


Nemesis Bloodline

by veep39



Series: Starless [3]
Category: Underworld (Movies)
Genre: Epic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-12-02
Updated: 2009-05-28
Packaged: 2017-12-03 12:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 21
Words: 64,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/698112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veep39/pseuds/veep39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody's ever really dead. Selene finds she has company in her new world.  Sequel to Consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

"How dark, how dark soever the race that must needs be run,  
I am lit with the Sun." _– Sidney Lanier_

  
\--0--  
  
  
A man sat, fog shrouded, on a secluded dock, considering distant, indistinct shapes of shadow and light across dark water. He'd picked this particular bench, not for its sturdiness or cleanliness, but for its location. The smell of the surroundings was similar, yet in small ways different, from the smell he remembered from ages past. Margaret Island still floated in the waves; he remembered the monastery when it was standing long ago. A steady Budapest drizzle overlaid all. He looked up to the sky, momentarily letting the raindrops bounce off his bearded face. He welcomed the wetness after having felt nothingness – at least he imagined he'd had.

 _I will reclaim mine by tide and by dissolution,_ the storm said. Sometimes it needed time to do the things it wanted to – sometimes all the time in the world. God could not reduce mountains, it seemed, but weather could in time. He could be just as patient, but the circumstances of his arrival here meant that he might not be able to afford to take his time. Then he remembered the command from _him_ – to... await instructions. He wondered how long he would have to wait.

The rain, the sloshing water, the gulls, and the horns of the boats passing by – he'd give it all back to them. It had already started. He gazed downward, then, through the waves of the Danube, which had lately claimed something strangely familiar to him.

Then, through the calming, white noise of the rain, he heard the long-familiar sound of his companion approaching. She wore new boots, though, he could tell. At her approach, he smiled for a moment. She'd tried to get close to what she'd been before. In recognition of her new situation she at least had found an umbrella – a quite large one that now sheltered them both as she stood over him.

"Did you find him?"

"Yes," she said.

Before he could reply, a wet, bedraggled dog trotted over to them. _Probably a stray,_ he thought. _She has this effect on them._ She stooped to pet the friendly thing, even though it was soaked to its skin.

"Hello," she cooed to it. "What's your name, huh?"

"Did you talk to him?" he interrupted.

Her attention darted back up to him. "The dog?"

"No. The _man_."

"Yes," she said, and then turned back to the dog. "I don't think he can help us."

He stood, then, up to his full, two meters-plus height. He simply walked away from her. After a half-block, he stopped to wait for traffic to clear as the rain drummed on the brim of his hat. Then he crossed and headed east, back into the city, along Dráva Street, toward the metro.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First draft completed on Lycan The Underworld on 12.2.2008; posted to Unnatural Selection on 5.22.2009 and updated. Posted to AO3 on 2.24.2013. Edited and revised 3.29.2013.


	2. Secret Cells

**_Six Months Ago_ **

"Intriguing," Selene said from Michael's mobile phone, her voice just discernible above the whine of the tram car's laboring electric motor.

"I can't believe... we're not tracking these sorts of things," Michael replied. 'We' was a word that he used with some difficulty in this context. Being a member of a coven of immortals wasn't exactly the same as joining your girlfriend's church.

"We've been a bit busy over the centuries."

"Well, these are different times. This sort of information isn't easily suppressed, especially today, you know."

"I know, Michael. I'm not saying you shouldn't check it out."

"You don't sound impressed. Denial isn't a good thing. Mortals can be clever."

"As you've told me," she said sardonically.

"It can't hurt to have an ear to the ground, either," he said as the tram jolted under him. "Shit," he muttered. "The tram's going a bit fast. It's actually a good thing – I've missed most of the lecture by now."

"You received two e-mails."

"Yeah? Who from?"

"Your father sent a scan of his advance directive."

Michael's mood shifted. He'd insisted that both of his parents make one, in light of the rapid decline and death of his uncle several months ago. "Did he say anything?"

"He said that if you're trying to have him killed, you could at least stop by for a visit."

"Good to hear he's being a good sport about it. What's the other one?"

"Ziodex sent a reply regarding your research proposal."

"And?"

"I didn't read the attachment, Michael."

"Well, I'm relieved you didn't delete it."

He couldn't hear her smile, but he imagined that she did. "See you later," she said simply.

He closed the connection and let his mind wander as the buildings slipped past. Research... research... it was all a part of his research – or so he told himself. It was too bad the coven didn't regard what he did as research and it didn't help that, five years on, the coven continued to be ambivalent about his existence. _Old habits die hard in the coven,_ Selene had told him on several occasions. It didn't surprise him, considering that they had carried on a war for 600-plus years. But if the war could be brought to a halt, then he figured anything could be possible. With immortality, anything could be accomplished given enough time, he supposed.

The lecture took place conveniently at the Astoria campus, just a short tram ride toward the central business district. He'd found out about the lecture at Semmelweis purely by chance while skimming articles on Cryptozoology Online. He knew that most of what he read there was bunk, but it captivated him anyway. He knew so little about himself; it seemed as if he grasped at anything strange that would help him unlock secrets. Being a unique being, he really could only figure things out on his own, despite Selene's apparent knowledge on the subject. It took him awhile to return to the rigors of the scientific method – at least when he wasn't reading about cryptozoology.

He arrived at the basement classroom where the presentation was being held and found to his disappointment that the lecture had indeed concluded. "... I firmly believe, based on the evidence that I've seen, that we can't summarily discount the existence of other, earth-born humanoid creatures among us," said the presenter, Dr. Bodnár, as he leisurely shoveled papers into his shoulder bag. The lecturer punctuated his last comment with a nod and looked over the thin audience of about 20. He made eye-contact briefly with Michael as he leaned against the inside jamb of the rear classroom door. To Michael, he looked to be in his forties. He was overweight, had a shaved head, a day's growth of stubble, and shaking hands. He had copious sweat on his brow and wore unfashionable glasses. On the chalkboard he'd evidently written – and then erased – the words, "new species" and "mutation". Elsewhere he'd scrawled a timeline with names – some of which Michael knew and some he didn't. "Any others?" Dr. Bodnár prompted.

A hand went up from an unkempt student. "Sir? Has anybody else found any other independent confirmation of the evidence that you found?"

"I wish I could say that was so. As I said, I have not much proof of anything myself – only scraps that I've found here and there over the years that fit with historical accounts. Believe me, if I had proof of anything, I'd certainly present it."

 _You ignored the past at your peril,_ Michael thought to himself, remembering a frequent comment of his during conversations with Selene. Michael suddenly realized he might not want to be seen attending this lecture.

"What are your future plans?" asked another student.

After a lengthy pause for thought, Bodnár said, "I'll continue to investigate... because I know somewhere out there is another example of something that I _know_ that I have seen..." He waited while several in the classroom chuckled. He put up a hand. "That's OK – I'm used to it – I believe that if I'm persistent, I'll find something that the world will find compelling and will vindicate what I've been claiming for the past few years."

After several more minutes of give and take, the lecturer thanked his audience and they gradually filed out. Michael remained in the doorway, regarding the lecturer, who kept his back to him as he finished packing his materials. As he shrugged on a trench coat, he turned slightly toward Michael. "Can I help you? You've done nothing but stare at me from the doorway for the last fifteen minutes." He then turned fully toward Michael.

Michael cleared his throat and walked in. He faced the man from the opposite side of the table upon which he'd lately spread his papers and paraphernalia. "I'm Michael Corvin. I'm a student here," he said, lying.

"Nice to meet you," Bodnár said, buckling his shoulder bag. "What can I do for you? And I might add that I need to be on my way, soon."

"Have you published?"

"Not yet. Why?"

"I'm just curious," Michael said. "What was it that you found? I'm sorry – I missed that part of the lecture."

"A head."

"A... ?"

The man's hands shook. "Actually I found a skull. It had fangs."

Michael's breath caught in his throat. He'd never been good at poker and his face likely showed his alarm. "Like a...?" he managed. He hoped continuing to talk would break up his disbelieving stare – stemming from the fact that a mortal had stumbled across something he shouldn't have.

"...a vampire?"

"Yes, I guess," Michael stammered.

"Could be," said Bodnár, with grin broadening.

"Can I see it?"

Bodnár snorted out a brief laugh. "You should've come earlier. You missed all the good stuff." To Michael's continued stare, he added, "I don't have it."

"What happened to it?"

"It disintegrated in the daylight."

Michael recovered his wits. "Doesn't that seem rather convenient?"

The man's grin disappeared. "Indeed it does, Mr. Corvin, but I am here despite what happened and I am not at all ashamed of what I saw. I'm disappointed that the thing vaporized in my hands, but that only makes me try harder." The man seemed like he was _still_ angry for losing a valuable find. "I saw it as plainly as I see you, right now."

Michael tried to stifle a silent, relieved breath. "Wow, I'm sorry to hear that," he said, both relieved and tantalized at the same time.

"But," Bodnár said, wagging his finger at Michael in defiance, "I have other things."

"What other things?"

"Well... artifacts – that nobody's been able to explain sufficiently."

"Do you have them here?"

"You're quite the curious one. You know, you sounded doubtful before."

Michael went through scenarios in his mind, wondering how much he could tell this man to keep him interested and wondering also what he might inadvertently divulge that could compromise the coven and bring to him even more unwelcome attention. He actually could care less about the coven, but Selene still had responsibilities there. He, seemingly like Bodnár, didn't want to reveal too much detail of his research to the other. There was a fine line between ruined credibility and making a discovery that would stun the human race. "Well, yes, you are right," Michael managed to say.

"It's been nice talking to you, Mr....?"

"Corvin – Michael Corvin."

"Shortened from Corvinus, perhaps?"

"Yes," Michael said evenly. "How did you know?"

"It's a famous name around here, as you probably know."

"Yes, I actually live near the university."

Bodnár put out his hand to shake Michael's, put on his hat, and began to walk out with his materials. "It was nice meeting you."

"Where are you speaking next?"

He stopped in the doorway and looked back at Michael. "I have an engagement in Bucharest in about a month. Here – my business card." Bodnár grinned and fished one out of his pocket. "I'm local, but I travel quite a bit."

Michael saluted with the card. "Thank you."

"I've a feeling I'll see you again, Mr. Corvin," Bodnár said.

"Yes, probably," Michael replied absently.

  
\--0--  
  
  
After a few games of pool in a nearby bar, he caught the #49 tram car over Liberty Bridge, back into Buda. He disembarked near the Gellért Hotel and completed his journey on foot. After a couple minutes of climbing past mansions on the fashionable south slope of Gellért Hill, he reached his destination. He buzzed open the gate on Kelenhegyi Avenue and walked across the rear gardens to the mansion proper. Once upon a time it had been called Kovács Mansion, but that name made little sense after the Lord Councilor had met his demise, along with Lady Amelia, at the business end of lycan paws. A night later, all members of his noble family had perished in the conflagration that Lord Marcus unleashed at Ordogház. Afterward, the home had been deemed a security risk when it became apparent that only three residents – a lesser noble, a guard, and a servant – remained to inhabit it. The coven shuttered the mansion for a year and then reopened it as a place for Selene to reside after her return from exile. It then became known as "Selene and Michael's mansion", but for members of the coven for which neither moniker was acceptable, it became known neutrally as Minerva Street Mansion, in honor of the roadway which fronted it.

Michael entered his study, situated in an upstairs room whose window opened southeast, so that he could behold the sunrise or the moonrise – whichever he wanted. The sunrise reminded him of Selene's rebirth and the other reminded him of his first change – both events seared into him without chance of forgetting or dulling with time. He'd become infected with viruses whose effect on a body's cells was now very familiar as seen from his vantage on the other side of his microscope's eyepiece. A virus, by definition, was an infectious agent, an invader, but paradoxically his body had become something more perfect as a result, less the ability to eat solid food and to remain lucid while undergoing the change.

As Michael peered into his scope, he heard the telltale creaking of floorboards elsewhere in the house, telling him that his donor was out of the shower and afoot. She came to him as he studied the slide and he felt her slender hands circle his midsection and reach upward to his chest. Her cheek rested in the middle of his back. "Discover anything new?" she said into it.

"Not yet, but it doesn't hurt to dream," he said as he covered her hands with one of his.

She breathed out a slight laugh and then let him go, circling around to the other side of his bench to face him. She turned his open laptop toward her so that she could view the same image that he looked at.

His momentary smile turned back to a more serious set of his jaw as he refocused his attention on the slide. Selene had supplied him with specimens of the most amazing tissue – made up of cells capable of miraculous regeneration. Injured cells transformed into stem cells, of a sort – supercharged by the immortal virus – which in turn grew into one or more undamaged cells. The life expectancy of an immortal, and their phenomenal recall he surmised, derived from flawless repair of damaged tissue. He'd yet to find a way that mortals could benefit from the regenerative power of an immortal's cells, but one of his many goals was to do exactly that.

Selene watched his work closely and in the back of his mind he suspected she would shut him down if he got too close to doing something that would reveal the existence of the vampires. Such a revelation would turn their world upside down. _"The Council, the Council, the Council,"_ she kept saying. Nothing could be done without the permission of Council. And yet... he conducted this research on coven property and in secret. Perhaps being under the watchful eye of Selene was sufficient tradeoff for the provision of free facilities and an effectively unlimited budget.

Her year-long imprisonment had made her gun-shy with regard to crossing Council. Everything had to be by the book. She'd resigned herself to that, finally shedding the notion that she could act with impunity – with Viktor no longer there to cover for her. Council had reemphasized that she would abide by the coven's wishes – or else cease to be a part of the coven, in this, the fifth spring of the post-elder age of it.

...And not only that, but post-vampire for Selene and post war for the lot of them, both vampire and lycan. Warriors of the coven busied themselves with other things besides preparing for war. Selene, as best she could, carried on with her life. He didn't know whether to expect her to be carefree in her new situation, but it seemed to him that she struggled, at times, against something that kept her tethered to her dark, warrior past. He imagined that she missed the hunt, the sense of accomplishment, the order, and the absolutes, now that she was of the new coven and with him.

"Have you been to the career counselor yet?" he remarked, looking up to see her reaction. Her wet bangs screened, but didn't entirely obscure, her momentarily lost expression. "I've got plenty to do, Michael, but sometimes I miss the nasty business we were in." She paused in thought and then continued gamely, "It seems like you're not missing your past life as much as before."

"I'm trying to do something useful to mortals, as you know."

She didn't have a response that they hadn't hashed over before. If he couldn't be with his family as he used to, he would pursue his career. She remained a 600-year old destroyer as much as Michael remained a healer. As he peeled off the dead, warrior's exterior, he found something within that he loved. He wanted her to grow in the light and he tried his mightiest to distract her. Sometimes he felt he couldn't do much more than scrape off her living tissue and put it under a microscope. With the secrets of her healing cells, though, he could become a warrior on behalf of the afflicted.

  
\--0--  
  
  
The apartment door opened abruptly. "How did you find me?" a visibly agitated Dr. Bodnár asked.

Michael shrugged. "The internet...?" He then glanced down at a long, slender object the cryptozooligist concealed behind his right leg. "What's that?"

Bodnár continued to size him up and then relented. "Oh, this?" Bodnár glanced downward at what had attracted Michael's attention. "I carry it with me. I think of it as my good luck charm. Keeps creatures... or people... away who might want to stop me from talking about my discoveries."

"Can I see it?"

"Come in, Michael," Bodnár said, gesturing inward with the handle end of his blade, which he then presented to Michael.

He found himself in a small, elongated front room, which led to a long hallway in the back. Pictures on the walls and a tablecloth on a dining room table at the far end of the front room instantly conveyed domesticity. Somewhere he heard water running in a sink. "Ever need to use this on anybody – or any creature for that matter?" Michael took the exotic, curved weapon and hadn't examined it for more than five seconds when he suddenly felt pins and needles in the upper portion of his spine. Etched plainly on the part of the blade closest to the handle was the inscription: _Property of Charles MCDXIX_. He took a deep breath and held it.

"Not yet, fortunately."

"Who's Charles?"

"I don't know," Bodnár muttered with a shake of his head. "This is Michael," Bodnár said louder, toward somebody out of sight. A woman poked her head out of a doorway about mid-way down the hallway. He immediately presumed it was Bodnár's wife. "Michael, this is my wife, Kati."

Kati frowned at Bodnár as she walked past him and then pleasantly extended a hand toward Michael. She counterbalanced Bodnár's gruffness. She appeared to be about the same age, but thinner. She wore glasses, as well.

"I'm sorry if I interrupted," Michael said. "I thought..."

"What? You thought a maniac such as I wouldn't have a girlfriend?"

"He's much better off, believe me," Kati said. "Are you married, Michael?"

"No, but I do have a girlfriend."

"You see? We're not all strange," Bodnár said to Kati.

"Where's it from?" Michael asked as he handed the sword back to Bodnár.

"That's one of the unexplained mysteries that I have." He clapped his hand across Michael's shoulder.

"That nobody's been able to figure out?"

"I had it carbon-dated and the works. It was most likely forged in the year that is stamped on it. I have no idea who Charles is. The etchings, what we can see of them, and the shape of the blade are unique and not characteristic of any civilization that we know of at the time. But it's definitely European and not Middle Eastern."

"Where did you find it?"

"I found it in a stream, right here in Hungary."

"Was anything else there?"

"No – and I tried." Bodnár said, voice and temper rising. "I suspect it had been carried from someplace upstream."

"From an old battlefield, perhaps?"

"This whole world was a battlefield at one time, Michael."

Indeed, but this Dr. Bodnár had no idea what he'd stumbled across. "May I take a picture of it?"

"Why? Do you know an expert?"

Michael thought of a sudden that playing dumb would've been a better alternative, but something about the sword made him uneasy enough that he needed to know whether or not it had once been wielded in a war of immortals, out of the awareness of the human race. He looked up to see Kati watching him intently. "I might – at the university."

"Semmelweis?"

"Yes," Michael said as he pulled out his mobile phone. He took a photograph of the blade as it rested in Bodnár's hands.

"Well, if you _do_ figure out what it is..."

"And if it's genuine..."

"Of course," said Bodnár, " _if_ it's genuine, I should like to know who Charles is and perhaps why he became separated from it."

  
\--0--  
  
  
By the time Michael rounded the last landing, he had his mobile back out, speed-dialing Selene's number. He took the steps two at a time down the last flight to the lobby of Bodnár's apartment building.

"Yes?" she said.

"I'm sending you a picture that you should show to Štefan."

"What of?"

"My cryptozoologist friend has a very old, very suspicious sword."

"Really? Robbed a museum, did he?"

"I just have a very bad feeling about it, like he robbed an immortal, actually. Do you know anybody named Charles?"

"No, but I'll see what Štefan knows. Where did he get it?"

"He said he found it."

"We're not usually in the habit of leaving weapons lying around," she said. "I'll let you know."

After he hung up, he immediately regretted telling her – the coven might move violently against any mortal who had knowledge of it. This he knew from first-hand experience.


	3. Mister Evil

Dr. Adam Lockwood was late, but not horribly so. He set his coffee down on the counter and scrolled through the patient reports from the day. One in particular he was eager to see – a statistic from the recent uptick in random shootings in Budapest.

"She's improving," his colleague Dr. Nagy said after meeting him at the nurse's station, and Lockwood could see he was happy to say it, though most people wouldn't notice.

"Conscious?" asked Lockwood.

"In and out. She was lucky."

The bullets had gone through her right hand and torso, puncturing her left lung, and that was it. The circumstances he didn't know, but she didn't seem like a member of the underworld. She looked more like a housewife, probably shopping someplace that she shouldn't have or doing any number of things at an unlucky time. The only thing unusual about her was a small, metal plate in her skull over her right ear, found during an X-ray.

He reached her two-bed room, in which she occupied the bed closest to the entrance. He tapped on the open door and walked in to find her asleep while a nurse checked her vitals.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Lockwood," the nurse, Paula, said as she slipped a sleeve around the patient's upper arm.

As Lockwood withdrew her other hand, her eyes fluttered open. "Good afternoon. Can I take a look at this?" he said, as he began to examine the wound.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Bodnár," Paula announced loudly. Her delivery was a bit louder than he preferred, but he let it slide.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. As he spoke, out of the corner of his eye he noticed somebody else entering the room – perhaps a family member.

Mrs. Bodnár squinted at the visitor and Lockwood reached to her nightstand to retrieve her glasses. As he reached out to put them on her face, he saw her mouth gape open and say, "What...". He turned to face the visitor just in time to hear a rapid, deafening series of pops explode within the room. Paula squeaked in surprise as Lockwood flinched. As his brain raced to process what had just happened and catch up, he could only watch numbly while the visitor put away a gun in his leather coat.

Lockwood found the man's eyes as he surveyed his handiwork. Paula caught her breath and screamed again, this time in horror. Time returned to normal, and Lockwood jerked his attention back to Mrs. Bodnár, who'd opened her eyes wide and now writhed in her sheets. Bloody patches grew where bullets had torn through bed sheet, gown, flesh, and forehead. In his practiced mind, he analytically tallied the maladies: _aortic rupture... hemopneumothorax... brain injury... she's going to have a tough night._ Alarms on the console above Mrs. Bodnár beeped insistently as her vitals went haywire. Somehow he'd wound up on the floor with his back against the I.V. dispenser. In the corner of his eye he saw the assailant exit the room. He resisted the urge to lurch to his feet to give chase. "Shut up!" he snapped at Paula who mumbled to herself in shock.

She did.

"Security!" he bellowed next.

"We've already called them," another nurse in the doorway said, voice shaking from fear. "They're locking down the hospital."

Hospital personnel then swarmed into the room and shoved a gurney in. "Up to surgery!" he barked, trying to make them go faster. _Maybe she'll make it._

  
\--0--  
  
  
She didn't. Afterward, Lockwood found his way, somehow, to the surgeon's lounge – the one with the floor-to-ceiling glass – but ignored the view and oncoming dusk. He had no appreciation for anything at the moment... neither the quietness, the low lighting, nor the zone that protected him and kept his mind humming as he went about the tasks of reattaching limbs, saving lives, or simply making lives less bad. He sometimes worried that he didn't care enough, but he got good reviews of his bedside manner. Any doctor knew that the personal touch healed just as well as cutting, injecting, and sewing. The assailant had invaded his personal and professional space as much as ended his patient's life. _I'm taking her from you,_ the man with the gun had said with it.

What happened to Katalin Bodnár had dropped him into a place that he rarely visited – he'd only imagined such cruelty and often seen the results of it, but he had trouble comprehending what had just happened in front of his eyes. Not only that, but the sound of the hammer clap and the smell... the whole incident had rewritten the circumstances of her initial arrival in the hospital. No longer had it been a random hit; she'd actually been hit _intentionally_ days ago – not accidentally – and then somebody had just come by to finish the job: to put her down like an animal.

Dr. Nagy appeared and walked across the carpeted, open area toward him. He put a hand on Lockwood's shoulder as he sat next to him on the moist stone that partly encircled a fountain. "All I can say is I'm sorry," Nagy said.

"That was crazy," Lockwood managed with a shake of his head. "I wonder what she was into."

"Maybe she saw something she shouldn't have. We really don't know. Did you talk to the police?"

"Yeah, the works. I don't think I can ever forget that face. He looked like he could be a doctor, you know?"

"A lot of the most evil people are very nondescript, or so I hear. They don't have 'Mr. Evil' tattooed on their faces." After some fishing in his lab coat pocket, Nagy pulled out something small and pushed it into Lockwood's hand. "Here, a souvenir."

He held up the small, oddly-colored, flattened object. "Christ," he muttered. "Is this silver? And shouldn't the police have this?"

"They'll get their own collection during the autopsy. I thought it would be interesting to show you. Ever run into this?"

Lockwood stared at the shard in amazement. "I didn't think there was such a thing."

"Me, neither." Nagy kept silent a moment and then said, "Look, I'll take the rest of your patients for today – you go and get some rest."

"So I can really think about what I saw today? God, I can't rest." Then he thought of somebody he might commiserate with. He'd never drunk a drop after the subway shooting, though.

"If you stay here, you might mess up."

"Thanks for thinking of me," he said, with a hint of sarcasm.

Nagy grinned. "Go on."

"Alright, but I want to see that autopsy report."

"As always, Adam."

"God," Lockwood said again, running his hand through his hair. Then he took his glasses off and looked at the bullet again. Then he stood, pocketed the slug, put his glasses on, and walked out of the lounge in the direction of the locker room.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Later, elsewhere in VIII District, Lockwood held an upright cue stick in one hand and a beer in the other, watching as his former colleague and sometime friend lined up his shot. He didn't frequent billiard halls at all, but Michael had insisted on it. The blaring music, hanging cigarette smoke, and dated décor served to distract him. A waitress set his sandwich on a battered wooden table near him. "How did you find out about this place?"

"Trial and error," Michael said, barely audible above the yowling of Courtney Love.

"How did you forget about the shootout in the subway?"

"Get to the point, would ya?"

"Excuse me?"

"It's a joke, Adam," Michael replied, straightening after his shot. "What happened?"

"Let me hear your story, Michael."

"You already know most of it," he replied with a glance.

"Yes, but somebody got shot right _in front_ of you." He watched Michael shove his cue stick – and miss his shot – as he spoke. Lockwood then scanned the table to line up his shot. "I want to know how you got rid of the memory of it."

Michael watched quietly as Lockwood sunk three balls in succession. When he missed his fourth shot, Michael walked toward the table and stood there. His eyes scanned the table as he spoke. "You never really forget – I mean, I remember that moment as if it were yesterday." He gestured with his cue. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time but fortunately the girl survived. It really wasn't as bad as watching my girlfriend die, though." He leaned over and took a shot.

"I watched somebody get executed today." There, he said it.

Michael straightened. "Jesus Christ."

"This guy... he just walked into a patient's room and opened fire – shot the patient right in front of me."

"Holy shit, Adam."

Lockwood reached for his beer and took a drink.

"Did the police get him?"

"Nah. Walked right out of the hospital, as far as we know. If he put a lab coat on he'd blend right in."

"You gave a good description and everything?"

"Yeah, I did all that," Lockwood whispered.

"You did all you could, right?"

"Yeah."

"Right?" Michael insisted, in a tone of voice he didn't hear much from him. He'd always known Michael to either speak softly or howl with rage. In time, the frustrated, trash-can kicking Michael had grown up and now had a coveted position at Saint John's. He spoke with authority, when necessary, as a good doctor would.

"Here's something fun," he said, fished the silver slug out of his pocket, and tossed it onto the table in front of Michael. "It's one of eight – two in the head and six in the chest."

Michael stared at it and then snatched it up.

"It's silver," Lockwood stated, in case Michael didn't realize it.

"What did the shooter look like?"

Lockwood pursed his lips. _Not the reaction I expected._ "Like a doctor. Clean shaven, brown hair, brown eyes, receding chin. He reminded me of John Cusack, actually, but with a ponytail. Why?"

Michael studied the crushed bullet for a few more moments and then looked back at Lockwood over it. "In case he comes into my hospital and tries to shoot one of my patients."

Lockwood left the pool joint feeling a bit better – the alcohol and the food helped, certainly, but maybe the most important thing was seeing the look of anger cross Michael's face. He'd asked if he could borrow the slug. Perhaps that helped, too. He remembered the strange conversation he'd had with Michael in his kitchen five years ago when he'd jokingly said that he'd been bitten by a werewolf and had sex with a vampire...

  
\--0--  
  
  
Michael's phone beeped as he walked down Baross Street toward the tram to take his usual route home. "Funny you should call," he said into it.

"Oh?" said Selene.

He felt a tirade coming on – and gave into it. "I have the second bit of bizarre news for you inside a week. I just met up with Dr. Lockwood, my colleague during my interning days. Somebody shot up one of his patients, execution-style."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said neutrally.

"At least one of the bullets that they pulled out was silver."

"Shit," she said. "The patient wasn't a lycan, was he?"

"It's a _she_ and I'm hoping to find that out tomorrow when I see the autopsy report. My first thought is that we've got another rogue band of immortals roaming around." He found it hard to keep the tone of accusation out of his voice.

"I'm certain we took care of them all. When was the shooting?"

"A few hours ago – in the daylight, as a matter of fact," he said with a sigh.

"Let's look at that autopsy before we raise an alarm, alright?"


	4. Cutouts

The elevator doors opened and Lockwood stepped out. He stopped and scanned the crowd of doctors, nurses, orderlies, and visitors and soon spotted Michael walking toward him. Michael's credentials from Saint John's had allowed him to walk in unchallenged – or perhaps security recognized him and didn't pay him a second thought. They shook hands.

"Welcome back," Lockwood said as he hit the call button.

"No lasting effects, I see?"

"Not so much that I can't work." He turned toward Michael. "Would you like to go upstairs and see Nicholas?"

"Thanks, but I'll pass. I don't have time to do much else than have a look at the autopsy report."

"I could've e-mailed it to you."

"I'd like to see the body, too," Michael added.

Lockwood looked at Michael in puzzlement for a moment and then shrugged. "I guess so. Any particular reason why?" They entered the elevator and Lockwood pressed a button at the bottom of the panel leading to the basement levels.

"No particular reason," Michael said after several moments. "We'll see what the autopsy says."

The car halted and the doors opened to a dimmer, quieter thoroughfare. Partway down the hallway, Lockwood keyed a code into a lock and opened the door to the autopsy laboratory. "Here's a terminal," he said after stepping inside and turning on the light. He logged in and searched for the electronic results while Michael stood nearby with his arms half-folded and his chin in his hand. After a few moments, the record of the patient's last living moments, frozen in time, appeared. He hit the print icon.

While they waited for the printer to deliver its output, Michael approached the monitor for a closer look... and then abruptly stiffened. "Jesus Christ," he muttered.

"What's the matter?"

Michael glanced at him and then returned his disbelieving stare to the monitor. Then he snatched up the first page of the hardcopy and studied it. "Katalin Bodnár – I knew her."

"You did? How?"

"She's the wife of a lecturer I went to see a week ago."

"No shit?"

"God, what's she doing here... and getting shot?"

"Any idea who might have done this?"

Michael looked at him in thought for several beats and then focused on the printout once more. "I don't know, but I'd really like to find out."

"Join the club," Lockwood said.

"I think I need to see the body," Michael replied as he collected the last of the hardcopy. He studied it as they walked to the morgue. "Nobody's claimed the body yet?"

"Funeral home is coming tomorrow," Lockwood said.

  
\--0--  
  
  
His nose led him to the morgue, but he didn't let on. With his heightened olfactory senses, even the slowed, refrigerated onset of decay couldn't escape his notice. Lockwood shadowed him as he entered the autopsy room in the front of the morgue and made his way to the rear refrigeration unit.

Lockwood suddenly halted and looked back in the direction they'd come. Michael stopped, too, reflexively. Beyond Lockwood, a man dressed in street clothes stood in the hallway, looking back at them through the small square window in the locked door.

"Somebody you know?" Michael said.

"You go on ahead and I'll see what he wants," said Lockwood. They separated and went through separate doors. "Can I help you with something?" Michael heard him say to the visitor just before the door to the hallway shut on them both.

Michael looked at the hardcopy in his hand to find the drawer number. The drone of the refrigeration units and the buzz of the malfunctioning fluorescent lighting effectively cancelled out what he could hear of the conversation beyond two doors. It reminded him of being dead – with a non-stop, overwhelming ringing in his ears after Marcus had impaled him on a wooden stake below the dock at _Sancta Helena's_ berth.

He smelled her before he reached the drawer. He already knew that she had been mortal weeks ago when he'd made her acquaintance. He cracked the drawer and took her into his nostrils – _still mortal, but now unfortunately dead._ He reached in and pressed his fingers against the temporal bone above her ear and felt the unnatural solidity of a metal implant. A number was stamped upon it and it had been recorded on the report. Strangely, the number was stamped on the _inside_ portion of the metal plate, visible only if pulled free, or in this case, when studying an X-ray image closely. He committed the number to memory, shut the drawer, and folded up the hardcopy. He shoved it into his pants pocket as he approached the exit to the autopsy room. He heard Lockwood's muffled voice through the other door to the autopsy lab and clear through to the outside corridor.

"Where is the patient now?" demanded the visitor.

"Probably at a mortician's, being prepared for burial. Why?"

"Where?"

"No earthly idea. Look, if you have questions about the patient or whatever, you really need to talk to the family or the police."

"I _need_ something from that patient."

"Well, if you _need_ it for a valid reason, then the family would be more than happy to give... whatever it is... to you."

"I need you to get it."

"I'm not going to get it. My responsibility with the patient is done."

"No, _you're_ responsible."

"For what?"

"I need a number off the patient's skull. What you do is scrape the flesh off above the right ear and it should be plain. Just copy the number down. How hard can that be?"

"You're going to have to do it yourself. I can't do it – I don't have authorization. We've released the body."

"Well, you better find a way."

"What's this about?" Lockwood asked. "You haven't told me one reason why I need to get this so-called number for you. Now, I've told you the proper way..."

"Yes, what is this about?" Michael echoed, opening the door to join them. He sensed right away that the stranger was a mortal and posed not the slightest threat. Lockwood, on the other hand, gave off the sharp odor of tenseness and aggravation.

"This is a _private_ conversation, doctor," said the man.

The visitor emitted a confusing smell – confident beyond reason when he shouldn't be. Michael decided he might do something about it. Putting fear into a man could do him good. "Well it's not any more, is it?" Michael said softly.

"I _said_ , this is a private conversation," insisted the man.

Michael stepped into the man's personal space. "And I agree with my colleague here, that if you can't produce credentials and you _can't_ prove you're next of kin and you _can't_ prove you have legitimate business, then you'll have to leave. If you _don't_ leave, then we'll have security remove you."

The man leaned back slightly from Michael, apparently unwilling to push back further. He had hair longer than most and was in need of attention from a comb. His mouth was shaped naturally in the shape of a smile, except at the corners where his lips turned downward. He regarded Michael closely and then said, "You win, doctor, for now, but my request stands. If you don't produce the information that I need, then your life is in danger. It's as simple as that." With that, he straightened, and then walked away from them both, down the hall toward a stairwell. "I'll be back, Dr. Lockwood."

After the stairwell door shut behind the man, Michael said, "Friend of yours?"

"I've never seen him in my life."

Michael pulled out the report from his pocket and put his thumb under the number that the medical examiner had found inside Kati Bodnár's temporal plate. "Was he after this?"

"Yeah, I guess so. Why is it so important?"

Michael stared at the number anew. "I don't know." The rude visitor had barely become anxious when Michael had read him the riot act. He was mortal, but a strange one. "I think we ought to talk to security to make sure that guy doesn't make it back in... You know what?"

Lockwood nodded once upward.

"You should make Mrs. Bodnár's skull plate disappear."

"What do you think is going on?"

Michael didn't have a ready answer. Somebody had wanted her dead and now somebody wanted something on the body. She would have no peace until she was in the ground. It was nearly as ridiculous as dying and being hauled onto a helicopter to reawaken later.

  
\--0--  
  
  
"What's this?" Selene asked, simultaneously stepping on the gas and unfolding the paper that Michael had slipped onto the dash of the Audi.

"That's an autopsy report. In the States I could get locked up for showing that to you," Michael said from the passenger seat. "And you'll get us killed if you don't pay attention to the road."

She ignored him. "What's this number highlighted? This name looks familiar."

"Really?"

"Isn't she the wife of the guy who somebody shot dead in his apartment?"

_"What!?"_

_"What?"_

"Where did you see that?" Michael said.

"Don't you read the paper?"

"I didn't get a chance today." He'd not looked at the Budapest Sun online, so he hadn't known. At least now, thanks to Dr. Lockwood's testimony, they had a solid description of one who was possibly, or at least partially, responsible. He'd have gone to the police to help give a description of the numbers man who'd accosted them both in the lonely corridor outside of the autopsy lab, but five years on he still would rather not be noticed by the police.

"What about the number?"

"It's a number that was found on a metal implant in the skull of this woman." He looked sideways at her and nodded once in finality.

Selene's brow furrowed as she studied the numbers. "Any idea what it means?"

"As I told Dr. Lockwood, they make no sense to me. None of this makes sense."

"And she's the one that got shot with the silver bullet? Wait a minute." She reached to her belt and pulled out her GPS. She began to plug in digits as she drove.

"What do you think?" Michael asked.

"Some of these numbers look like coordinates."

"Really? It didn't look like..."

"No, not what you're used to seeing – these may be Hungarian national plane coordinates. Here," she added, and held up her GPS so that he could see the screen. "I keyed in part of these numbers and it came up with this location – Istvántelki MÁV Station."

Michael just looked at her. "Well?"

"We can't... not yet. We'll go after our appointment."


	5. Slave

"Please be patient, Janas," Géza said from his seated position. He moved a pawn forward on the granite.

Janas stood at the side of the playing table, with the two players seated to his left and right. His fedora shaded the chessboard from the overhead sun. He bent down to place his hands firmly on either side of the table, causing it to pitch slightly in his direction as he put his bearded face in Géza's.

"And please don't make a scene. We're in a public area and I know all this is something you're not used to, " Géza continued.

" _When_ will others join us?"

"We are still engaging the keepers. It will take time."

"Do you know where more of them are?"

"They are not the easiest to find, Janas, but we're getting there."

"Do you need our help?" Janas said sarcastically.

Géza's partner, an elderly man, moved a knight and looked up. He said, "You do your part. We'll call upon you when we are ready." Then he looked back down and seemed to lose interest in the conversation. The old man had intrigued Janas ever since he'd first beheld him contemplating the chessmen. He felt as though the old man, whose name he didn't know, owed him something – perhaps his life. Janas' companion stood nearby in the shade of some trees, collecting a Frisbee that had been returned by her newest pet.

"Have you at least a census of our objectives?"

Géza took a deep breath. "Yes, we have. Not much has changed over the years, except for what we've told you. If anything, your job should be easier."

"It looks to me like whoever fails the least, wins at this contest!"

"We have time on our side, don't you remember?"

"What I've _learned_ tells me otherwise. What I must do, I must do _now_."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," said Géza.

"When we're finished, I may come after _you_ ," Janas declared as he once again blew his breath in Géza's face.

Géza looked up at him with hardly a care in his expression. "Unless there's some trickery, I'm pretty sure you can't do that. Besides, I'm trying to help you do what you want to do. Will you relax?"

Janas slammed his fist into the chess table with such force that the pieces bounced in place and then became hopelessly jumbled. Géza's partner just looked across the table at him and folded his arms.

Géza gestured at the table. "I see you're no fan of deliberation, but that's what makes you special. We'll call you when we need you."

Janas stalked off with his coat blowing in the wind, down-slope in the direction of Városligeti Lake. He waved his arm in an abrupt, jerking motion and his companion obeyed.

"Can I have a special name, too?" Géza heard Janas' companion say as she joined him.

"No," he said back to her. "You won't need one." They proceeded toward the gravel walkway and headed west, out of earshot.

"When will we be ready, really?" asked Géza.

"When Charles comes into our midst," said his elderly partner.

  
\--0--  
  
  
If his hosts endeavored to deliberately disorient him, they were only partly successful. As a veteran of countless battles with Ottomans, lycans, and others that had threatened the coven over the centuries, he didn't fluster easily. He'd traveled upon horses, in carriages, on boats, and in recent times, in automobiles. In the last 24 hours however, he'd been aboard an aircraft for the first time, and now this. The only disorientation he would now admit to was being loaded onto a private jet and transported halfway across the planet and out of his home coven.  "Does this coven travel anywhere without flying?" Kou commented to nobody in particular, wondering if his bark had been heard above the rattle of whirling helicopter blades.

It didn't matter, really.  He and his escort shared neither sire nor language.  Eduardo, a stocky vampire of few words seated next to him, didn't offer any response.  This latter-day guardian of Amelia had collected him at Guarulhos, paid off the customs agents, and ushered him aboard the black and blue-colored, metal, mechanical whirly-bird for another trip in the air.  As they ascended skyward, they became just one of many fireflies alighting above the nocturnal dazzle of the São Paulo megalopolis.

They continued upward, cresting the high hills north of the city, on their way to some secret location, away from the crush of humanity, just as the coven had done 300 years ago back home. He gazed out of the starboard window, momentarily unconcerned about Eduardo or the two heavy-set mortals aboard. It hadn't been the first time he'd met Eduardo, of course. A year and a half previous the Brazilian had accompanied Lady Léna to Budapest to take possession of one of Tanis' collection of revealing writings. Eduardo appeared more relaxed for this trip, so he thought he'd try to be also. Eduardo probably had not much more worldly cares than to protect the American coven, particularly Léna. Kou wished he could be so simple, once again. He was some 11,000 kilometers away from his home turf and even more on holiday from being the Kou he once knew. He hoped his mission would be successful and he could reconnect.

He imagined that Léna would perhaps rather have things as simple as well. Among the revelations in Tanis' writings was an allegation that Léna's mother, the late Lady Amelia, had unwittingly played into the hands of Kraven and had sealed her own fate. Léna's inherited memory of her mother's life had no record of her unintentional, momentary alliance with Kraven. Kou had seen first-hand the horror in Léna's eyes as she'd struggled to reconcile her mother's memory with what Tanis' writings had claimed. Marcus' and Viktor's memories, also resident within Léna, could only stare helplessly through her eyes as the European coven had turned to ash and then grappled with the unthinkable: making peace with both itself and the lycan pack.

The helicopter banked left and descended, traveling low enough that he could see individual cars on an arterial. A town passed them to the left. "Nazaré Paulista," Eduardo commented. They continued onward, back onto a straighter path. They crossed an expressway, and then flew over a darkened, featureless expanse, which Kou supposed was a lake. They banked right and hugged a coastline, barely discernible in the depth of dark below. They approached concentric circles of lights, then circled around them, and then descended toward a blue square some distance from them. Leaves high in trees whipped at their approach.  Headlights from cars then blinked on at the edge of the clearing as the ground came up to meet the visitors.

Kou felt the need to comment, but as the helicopter touched down, he thought better of it. There was no point in speaking his native tongue when none could understand.  He nodded, instead, to the host that greeted him from the ground: five vampires – or mixtures of vampires and mortals – that he could tell. One, with outstretched hand, indicated an open door to the back seat of a small kind of sedan that he'd never seen before – but then again, he'd never seen this land before. _Chevrolet_ , he noted on the dashboard as he settled in and the door thumped shut on him. They drove off in two cars down a tree-lined gravel roadway and turned right, at an angle onto another. After a short time, the woods opened up onto a stone-paved plaza in front of a low, but apparently extensive building. He guessed it was the circular structure that he'd seen from the air.

After the car parked, the passengers in front and sitting beside him got out and fastened their black jackets as they waited beside the car for him. Then his own door opened and the hand man gestured for him to exit the car. As he rose to standing in the driveway, he noted Eduardo approach from his own vehicle.  In his peripheral vision, he saw several others emerge from within the building and around the periphery to move briskly toward the parked vehicles and then stand tensely in an arc about three meters away. Two, he noted, carried extra bulk around their waists and he supposed they carried weapons. Several, judging from their gait, were mortals.

A gait of a different sort approached at the edge of his hearing.  _Heels on stone._

"Kou," a familiar female voice said.

He spun, and after a moment of disorientation, recognized the speaker with a shock:  Erika.  Erika, most recently of Kraven's posse and who had haunted the upper echelons of the old, great mansion that was once upon the time the home of both.  She wore less extravagant attire now - a maroon pantsuit.  Her hair was cropped short and now very nearly could pass for a soldier.  

"It's good to see you," she said.  "Welcome."

He scanned around at the armed men.  "I thought you'd died with everybody else," he managed.

"I laid low, for awhile, then came here," she said softly in Magyar, with a facial expression that said she didn't want to discuss it further.

He turned toward Eduardo and said, "I didn't know there were so many vampires here.  Any others from Hungary?"

"Just me, and... they're not all vampires," said Erika.

"If they're in the coven, they might as well be," said Kou. Despite the presence of Erika, he was treated with caution - he'd done the same when their roles were reversed a short time ago.  Their role was to keep control of the situation and he felt strangely proud of them for that.  He chose to be honored - perhaps some of them knew that he'd been a protector of Amelia for centuries before their Brazilian blood was tasted by her.  Also none here could claim to be a death dealer.  He grinned.

Erika smiled tightly for a moment in return and then indicated the entry to the building. "Shall we?"

"They all turned out for me?" he said as he walked with her toward the building.

"Per My Lady's instructions."

"Lady Léna, I presume?  She lives here?"

"No, Lady Amelia lives here."

Kou stopped. "Now what does that mean?" He'd heard and seen enough in the last five years.  He wasn't sure he was ready for the appearance of another ghost.

"It means, Kou, that this remains Lady Amelia's house. Lady Léna is only a visitor, just like the rest of us."

"I see." They and the crowd moved on, straight in, then along a curved corridor, and then turned abruptly into another straight corridor that led to double wooden doors at the end. Erika glanced at him and then wordlessly vanished.  Now a slight woman, a vampire, greeted them there. She turned and knocked gently on the door. It opened and a male vampire looked out. He then opened the double doors wide and beckoned Kou in.  He followed the vampire, alone, into a rather more humid environment.

Waiting inside, facing him and propped against a curved railing in the middle of a room stood Treva with arms folded.  He walked deliberately in and toward her, observing.  At the end of the entry alcove, the room opened up into a large, though not cavernous, circular room -- about 25 meters in diameter.  Scattered about the walking areas in the periphery were framed pictures, works of art, assorted pieces of furniture, and well-endowed desks. One held a desktop PC. Another signing stand in an alcove reminded him of the version that had been burned inside Castle Dömötör over three hundred years ago. Likely Amelia's hands had lain upon it.  There was not a chair in sight and he knew that this must have been Amelia's audience – he'd rarely seen her sit during her prior reign. 

Movement beyond and below Treva attracted Kou's notice. He found himself standing on clear, thick, Plexiglas and could see an identical floor below him. Below that, shapes swam in and out of submerged lights, briefly obscuring them and casting shadows. He approached the large aquarium and peered over the black painted, metal banister next to Treva.  She was as wrapped tightly in her clothes as he'd remembered her.  Her brunette mane of hair was even pinned up so that no part of her was permitted to be loose.  She was the exact opposite of Eduardo in physique: skin and bone.  Though she was multilingual, he said nothing to her.

She was equal to him in height, but nowhere near him in skill or strength.  She regarded him, though, as if she knew none of these things.  She was simply relaxing and observing. "I know that Lady Léna must be near," he said to her finally.

Treva nodded and looked briefly upward, over her shoulder.  He followed her glance upward, toward a darkened atrium where occasional stars peeked through a glowing haze. He recognized Léna's form standing on a small platform that was accessible only from a curved, metal stair that began at his right.

"Leave us, Parran," said Léna. She put down a small book on a tall, narrow, metal desk and turned to look down at the three of them:  Kou, Treva, and the departing doorman.  She did it to remind him, Kou thought, of the days when Lady Amelia sat on high, dispensing justice through him.  As she descended the black metal stair, he got a clearer view of her, which served to disippate his nostalgia for an earlier, more ordered time.  The door clicked shut on Parran behind him. Treva eyed him warily, now, as Léna approached. 

Unlike Treva, Léna's attire was a looser affair - a slender, black, sleeveless dress that began high on her collar and ended just above her knees.  Helical strands were embroidered in the silk and an excess of gold draped around her waist and hung in hoops from her wrists.  She appeared wordlessly at his right and he turned toward her.  She didn't look through him as Amelia had always done, but she came close. As her eyes lingered on him, he imagined that she compared him to the memories that she had of him from long ago in her mother's memory. The movement of the creatures below caused the half-light to flicker in her eyes. Within them, Elder memories swam.

Then she did something that he didn't expect just then: she grasped his hands and kissed him on each cheek.  Her hair grazed his face as she did so and her voice broke the spell with finality. "What brings you to Brazil?"

 _Why, indeed?_ He glanced to his left, toward the eavesdropping Treva. Behind her yawned an opening that led two meters or so straight down to the water. Léna made eye contact with Treva and nodded sideways toward the door. Treva frowned with her eyes, pushed away from the banister, and headed for the exit.

"Have you drunk tonight?" Léna asked.

He shook his head.

She stepped to a desk against a curved wall and pressed an intercom.

"Yes?" Parran said from it.

"Service for two, please," Léna said.  Then she turned and leaned against the desk, facing him.  "This is a surprise.  I'm glad you came for a visit.  I'm due to leave for my office in an hour, but I don't think my other guests will miss me if I delay."

"I see you have a refugee from Ordogház."

She paused for a beat.  "We're all refugees from Ordogház, Kou."

He nodded, more from lack of disagreement than overt agreement. 

The door clicked open and Parran appeared. He presented a tray with silver flutes and a carafe that contained the dark, red, warm nourishment.  She placed it on the desk behind her and poured.  "You and my mother drank together often."

"Yes, and it was an honor," he said, low in his voice.  She approached with the crystals and he added, "But I thought it was Lord Viktor's tradition that got passed along."

"So, why are you here?  Holiday?  Refugee?  Assassin?"  She took a sip.

He reached down to his boot.  "I'm unarmed, except for this."  He pulled out the small silver-plated throwing knife with the faded and worn 'Z' stamped on it.

She looked down at it incredulously, wondering perhaps how he got it through customs.  She took a step back.

"Don't worry, you're not in any danger from me," he said, and forced a grin.  His tribulation, however, made it difficult. 

"There are forces in the coven, aside from dearly departed Orbán, that would like to see me dead."

He was silent for several moments.  "I cannot decide which, but lately it seems I'm a refugee."

"You're welcome to stay, permanently, if that is what you want," she said seriously.

"I don't want to leave Hungary and I don't want to leave the coven."

"You wouldn't be leaving the coven if you came here."

He reached out and tapped Léna's half-drunk crystal with his knife.  "What we're doing, we don't do anymore.  Understand?"

"The coven has reasons for..."

"I know, Léna.  I understand why the Elders are all dead, but we've lost something with them."  He gestured in a circle with his knife.  "We're ruled by committee."

"Put it _away_ , Kou."

"My Lady, the coven needs leadership."

Her face turned to stone. "It _does_ have leadership, captain."

He pointed, now, with the knife.  "What we have is not leadership. It's a semblance of leadership and concocted to balance all interests."

"That was the intent and it was sorely needed."

"The coven is stable, now. Now is the time to provide the coven some direction."

"In case you've forgotten, I am not a shining example of rightness. I will cause more problems than I will solve."

"You had ample cause to do what you did."

"I murdered Marcus' _regent_ , Kou."  With that, she took a final, deep swallow and walked to the desk to return the crystal to the tray.

"I thought what _I_ did was right, My Lady." He held up the knife that had once belonged to his lover. "The lycans took my Zsanett."

"Put it away."

"I cannot," he said.

"And don't compare your cause to mine. You tried to take the coven back into a war that it had finally tired of."

Kou began to shake.  He was truly at a crossroads.  He couldn't go on.  He descended to one knee, bowed his head, and wordlessly held out the throwing knife, cradled in two hands. "Bless me or kill me," he said in a shaking voice.  After a few moments, he heard and felt her approach, lightly brush his palm as she encircled her fingers about the handle, and take it out of his hands.

"Zsanett disobeyed me!" she said through clenched teeth.  Then she stepped away.  

He looked up just in time to see her shake her head sharply from side to side.  She wound up and threw the knife into the pool where the dark shapes moved. "My Lady!" he said, and jumped to his feet. She'd just disposed of the knife, _her_ knife, the knife he'd used to skin lycans. He felt his eyes blaze blue, which happened so rarely in the last five years. He slowly stood and faced her.

She walked to the desk and pressed a button.  Machinery groaned to life and the floor began to vibrate below his feet.  Looking down, he watched a Plexiglas lid slide out from underneath the lower floor and glide across the open aquarium.  It reached the other side in about 10 seconds and halted, preventing him from being able to recover the knife.

She stood midway between him and the desk, looking at him now with real fear on her face. "Remember when we visited the remains of Ordogház, you and I together five years ago?" she blurted out.

Breathing heavily, he only glared at her.

"You told me to look within to know myself. I thought at the time that it was Confucius, perhaps, but I took it to heart."

He recovered his wits and planted both hands on the railing. "And it was all too successful, I see," he managed, sarcastically, gazing vaguely out and down. The Elders' memories had enveloped her after that night, and now he'd just appealed to them, futilely, to return the favor.

"Will you try, Kou, to do the same?  I'm all out of answers for you."

He considered the pool below.  He had nothing else to say.  He'd failed in this mission, as well.

"Don't be a slave, death dealer," she spoke softly into his ear as she strode past him, toward the door from which he'd entered. "Don't be like I was," she added over her shoulder.


	6. Cache

Selene and Michael arrived at Lord Councilor Gellért's mansion after a brisk, two-block walk through a cold rainstorm. Representatives of the Councilor's personal guard stood on either side of the vestibule and light-lock, welcoming them in their dour way. After exiting the lock, they found themselves in a grand, nearly square foyer illuminated by a giant chandelier suspended from the ceiling three stories up. The 15 members of the full, Grand Council sat in straight-backed chairs in a semicircle. The image of Lord Councilor Dömötör, the current Council President, gazed out at the group from a large, flat panel display on a small table toward the rear of the foyer. Lord Councilors Torma and Gellért sat on either side, in the flesh, facing the 15 of the semicircle. Other vampires, elected "of the coven", arrayed themselves in ranks behind the 15. To the right and left arced two staircases on opposite sides of the foyer;  Selene gestured to one staircase and Michael followed.

The old, worn wood of the steps creaked under her boots and his walking shoes as they ascended. As Councilor Dömötör went through motions in monotone, they settled themselves on a pair of velvet-covered wooden chairs on the first-floor balcony. Droplets of water from their coats collected into small puddles on either side of each chair. A vampire appeared at Selene's shoulder and handed her an agenda on a sheet of paper. They scanned it and found they didn't have to wait long to discover their fate.  Three other vampires shared the balcony with them, about three meters away.  Straight across from them sat two more, who folded their arms and regarded them stonily.

Certain vampires in the coven, and probably those who'd never taken a liking to him anyway, had learned that he studied immortals to learn the biology of their physical strength, persistence of memory, and regenerative abilities. This, it seemed, trod too close to Viktor's old dictum that the coven only revealed its affairs on a "need to know" basis. They claimed dominion over him even though he was technically not a member of the coven. That he was immortal, it seemed, was all the justification they needed. The transparency provided by Selene to Council had backfired.

Nearly all the debate had taken place in earlier assemblies, with the Upper Council of the three ruling in their favor. Unfortunately that vote hadn't settled it. Selene had argued on his behalf, even threatening to resign as head of security at Castle Víg. "It's out of my hands," her supervisor, Lord Florian had said. Such was the new way of the coven. It was even more apparent to Michael that Selene, along with the remaining other death dealers Florian, Haruye, Kou, and Duncan, were anachronisms in this peaceful time.

A few pairs of eyes looked upward at them as Lord Dömötör read out the proposed writ. Dömötör's unseeing eyes looked straight ahead or to the side as he read from a laptop while the Council scribe, Štefan, tapped on his. "On the writ to exile Michael Corvin, immortal hybrid, from the Coven of the Vampires unless he immediately ceases activities related to biological, scientific, and medical research of immortals; 'exile' being defined as being deprived of Coven financial and material support, including provision of shelter; this writ being previously denied by Upper Council during the Assembly of 20 December 2007: vote now to override."

"I don't need fucking shelter," Michael muttered.

The vampires clicked away at their secret ballot. Michael imagined she might put her hand in his in order to be held, but naturally she didn't. Instead, she muttered, "Some days it makes more sense to be a lycan."

He looked up and met her eyes briefly. She stood, and he followed suit. They clattered down the steps as the Assembly continued its votes.

"I can't say that I blame them," Michael said as they reached the street and walked as briskly down it as during their approach less than an hour before.

"Are you going to cease and desist?"

"I hadn't planned on it."

"Good," she spat. "Let's see what these coordinates lead us to."

  
\--0--  
  
  
"We can take the metro almost to there," Michael said after they'd walked a block.

"We'll need to maneuver to locate the point, if there is even anything interesting at these coordinates. Besides, if we're being followed, then I'd like to get out if I need to."

"Do you think we're being followed?"

She looked sideways at him for a few steps. "It's always a possibility, especially under these strange circumstances. I used to hunt lycans, remember?"

It was close to midnight when they accelerated around Heroes' Square and made for the E71, headed northeast toward Újpest, along a route that had long become familiar to him in recent years from regular trips up to and back from Castle Víg. Along that route, he'd passed the enormous train museum any number of times. Just beyond that, they exited at István Tóth Street and worked their way south and then underneath the motorway, to the perimeter fence of the railroad tracks. They parked at the end of Örszem Street, close to where a copse grew near the fence. Their target lay to the east, over some obstacles.

After checking that the coast was clear, they sprang like fleas over the fence and to the other side of the single track and then took off running. They sprang again, this time over the double tracks of the main MÁV rail line running southwest to northeast. On the other side, they found themselves in a very old rail yard filled with abandoned train cars.

They took cover behind a berm as a MÁV rumbled past. They re-emerged and continued east amidst rusted train chassis, discarded rails, motors, piles of wood, solidified pools of tar, bushes, giant weeds, and small trees.

"I wouldn't be surprised if we found a body here," Michael said.

She glanced at him and turned her attention back to her GPS receiver that she held in her outstretched hand. They proceeded through a dense minefield of weeds, garbage, and rusted metal. He followed behind and kept an ear and nose out. Nearing their destination, they came upon what looked to him like a deer trail through the weeds. They kept to it and it eventually led them to an isolated boxcar.

"Are we here?"

"The coordinates are right on the roof of this thing."

"How accurate is it?"

"Sub-meter. For caching, you need the best." She rattled a padlock on the door.

"I'll check the other side," Michael volunteered, and circled around to find the other side locked up as well. He reversed course and as he walked back around, he heard an abrupt crunch. He arrived to find the silhouette of Selene pitching a long piece of scrap metal aside. She glanced at him and gave the door a good yank sideways.

"You got a penlight?" she asked.

He tossed his to her. "Wait a minute."

"What?"

"I smell vampire." In mid-sentence, his vision hazed, his fingers elongated, and his salivary glands went into overdrive. In the corner of his mind that still processed stimuli logically, he noted that Selene reached under her jacket and pulled an automatic pistol from its holster in the small of her back. As she cocked it, he reached forward and pulled on the partially open door until it slid open fully. He crept inside and followed the penlight beam as it searched this way and that in the darkened interior. Stacked about the inside of the boxcar were crates of various sizes. Recent footprints led from the door that they'd entered through the dust toward a particular stack of boxes a few feet down a corridor formed by the stacked containers.

His body reacted to the receding threat by returning to near-normal state. His heart rate settled, but he could still feel the adrenaline. _Mortals... silver bullets... what's a vampire doing out here in the middle of nowhere?_ "This has to be it," he whispered, indicating a two-meter long, unmarked crate about waist-high.

"You weren't kidding about the body," Selene muttered.

"Allow me," he said, and grasped the lid at the seam between it and the lower part of the box. He forced his nails between the slats, pushed upward with his thumbs, and popped the lid free. The inside portion of the lid was lined by layers of soft padding – packing material, he gathered. Another layer obscured the contents of the box. He glanced at Selene, who stood a half-meter away illuminating the crate with the penlight in one hand and covering the floor with the pistol in the other. He pushed aside the next layer and exposed a black, vinyl body bag.

The bag bore no identification anywhere, but the contents were surely vampire – though oddly different in odor than what he was used to. "I'm surprised the lycans haven't found this."

"Maybe they know it's here and have avoided it."

"I think the cleaners are falling down on the job," he added.

He heard her exhale breath in exasperation.

"Let's see who you are," he said as he grasped the zipper at the top of the occupant's head. He pulled downward to about mid-torso. "Death dealer, female," he said neutrally.

Selene made no comment, but pushed her way forward to shine the penlight in the vampire's face. Then she looked back at him in astonishment.

"Do you know her?"

She stared at the body for some moments more, and even pushed some hair out of its face. "It's Dagmara. Yes – knew her. She died 16 years ago... and she wasn't a death dealer."

"What, then?"

"She was from Ordogház," Selene said, glancing back at him, "but she was just a soldier."

"Would the cleaners stash her here?"

"I've no earthly idea. I figure they'd just destroy bodies or any evidence they collected. God, she's dressed up and ready to go – in the soldier's uniform. Look," she said, working the zipper farther down. "Boots and everything," she added with pride.

"How did she die?"

"Typical stuff – in a shootout with lycans."

Michael approached the crate and worked his fingers underneath Dagmara's clothing at her waistline. "No obvious trauma here." He'd begun examining her head when Selene stopped him.

"What's this?" She'd pulled up Dagmara's right arm, the closer of the two, which had a length of tubing protruding from the top of her hand and attached to the inside of the body bag. Michael looked more closely and discovered that a line had been inserted into a vein in the top of her hand. The other end led to a port, which they hadn't noticed before, outside of the body bag.

"It's for administering fluids or drugs," he announced.

"Look at _this,_ Michael." She held up Dagmara's other hand into the penlight beam. On the fingers had been tied a short knife. "Why are you here?" she added softly.

"I can tell you this: she's not dead."

"Not?"

He held up the arm with the line in it. "She doesn't have vital signs, but if she were dead, she'd be decomposed, mummified, or ashed, right?"

"So what do you think is going on?"

"She's being maintained in this state – maybe through here," he said.

She turned back and stared again into Dagmara's face.

"Maybe Alexander took sides," he continued. "We know he was in touch with Tanis."

"Maybe the cleaners are still trying to do their work, but they don't have the facilities and leadership anymore. But she's so old." She nodded toward the knife hand. "It almost looks like she's got that to cut herself out."

"And do what?"

"Do you remember Rigel?" She suddenly said.

"Who's Rigel?"

"He's one of the vampires that died when we first met in Ferenciek tere station."

"I just saw a bunch of people shooting and somebody tried to grab me."

"She's Rigel's mother."

Michael found himself strangely indifferent. Selene obviously cared, judging from the position she took up next to the open crate containing her compatriot. He realized then that they weren't going to be leaving Dagmara in the freight yard.

"She was also..."

In the lengthening silence, Michael prompted her. "Yes?"

"Never mind," she said, and glanced back at him in the dark. Then she apparently reconsidered. "She was Halldór's lover."

That comment gave him a jolt in the chest, mostly because of her facial expression. "But Halldór was..." He remembered Léna's last name: _Halldórsdóttir._

"Yes. He was with Dagmara after Amelia."

"So Halldór was Rigel's father, too?"

"No."

"You're giving me a headache," he said. "What are you doing?"

Selene untied the small blade from Dagmara's left hand and put it to her own wrist. "I'm going to see if I can revive her."

"You're not a vampire anymore."

She looked as though she'd do it anyway, but then thought better of it. Instead, she tucked the blade into her coat pocket and folded her arms. "The lycans killed Halldór not long after Dagmara. Rigel was effectively orphaned."

"I'm sorry," Michael said.

"And here she is, alive – perhaps." She unfolded her arms and returned to her guardian stance next to Dagmara's crate. "We'll just have to take her back to the castle and have Štefan take a look."

They set to work extracting Dagmara from her sleeping crate and Michael saved the line for future study. He spotted some residue in it and wanted to determine what it was. In the empty body bag Selene placed a geocaching token – an image of a Walther on the obverse and an image of a boot heel on the reverse. Michael hoisted Dagmara's limp form onto his shoulder and dropped the meter-high distance to the weedy ground of the freight yard.

With considerable, though careful, effort, they worked their way back across the terrain and placed Dagmara into the rear seat of the Audi. As they made for the motorway, Selene pressed a button on her mobile phone. "Florian, you won't believe who we just found in an abandoned freight car..."


	7. Funeral, Interrupted

While Selene chatted with Lord Florian on her mobile phone, Michael rooted around in his shoulder bag and after a few moments found what he was looking for: an empty syringe. He turned around to check on Dagmara, who lay comatose and folded up on the back seat. "I don't suppose we could take her to our mansion?" he commented after she hung up.

Her forehead creased. "No. After that vote I don't think you want to get caught having your way with Dagmara. Castle Víg is the best place for her and _they_ can figure out what to do with her. What are you doing?"

He concentrated on inserting the needle into the port while Selene floored it up the E71. "There's some residue in this line."

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I don't know, but since this line isn't a part of her body..."

"Not anymore, at least," Selene interjected.

"...I think I'm within my rights to take a sample of whatever this is."

"I get your point, Michael. I'm not going to tell your mother." She slowed down so he could steady the needle.

"Thanks," he said.

"Let me know when you're done – dead or not, if we can't get her inside the castle before sunup, she'll fry."

He carefully pulled the one milliliter or so of liquid from the port. Satisfied that he'd obtained what he could, he grabbed tape from his bag and wrapped it around the plunger to immobilize it. Then he capped the needle and put the whole thing back into his bag. He returned Dagmara's line to his jacket pocket and sat back for the rest of the ride to the uplands north of Pest, to the sometime home of Lord Marcus when he'd reigned.

A host of vampires awaited them as they braked in the interior courtyard of Castle Víg. The large, main doors with the 'M' emblazoned on them had been opened wide to the night. Every surviving death dealer of Ordogház, save Kou, had turned out. Several of Lord Marcus' remaining soldiers and followers also came out to stare at the recovered vampire soldier that all had long considered dead and therefore forgotten. Duncan, one of the death dealers, and Henrik, a soldier of Castle Víg, approached with a hand-held stretcher. They unloaded her from the car as the remainder, Lord Florian foremost, observed silently.

A procession followed as they maneuvered the stretcher into the keep and into the interior plaza, with Selene maintaining a guarding position next to it. They paraded through the plaza and headed for the side stairwell that led to the clinic in the lower levels.

Inside, the bearers moved Dagmara to a raised examination table in the center of the room. "Istvántelki MÁV freight yard is a long way from Buda," Florian commented after most of the vampires took their leave. He leveled his attention at Selene. "If we assume it's the cleaners, why would the cleaners leave her there? Do you have any ideas?"

"No, not really," Selene muttered in a mildly irritated voice. She looked up from her post at Dagmara's side as Štefan and Trézsia, a technician, entered and approached the table.

Trézsia commenced a physical examination while Štefan stood in the periphery on the other side of the room and shook his head. "Neither I," he said.

"What's _he_ doing in here?" growled Henrik from the doorway. All eyes in the room went to the Castle soldier and then to Michael, the object of his outburst.

"Michael?" said Florian, looking in his direction.

"I'm here if you need me," he said, nearly successful in concealing his sarcasm.

"Being an immortal doesn't necessarily make you an expert in them," Henrik barked.

Michael met his gaze steadily. "Well, I hope to be that someday," he said softly.

"I think that's what's gotten the coven into an uproar, don't you think?" Henrik said.

"Michael knows more about vampire physiology than anybody in this room," Florian stated.

Henrik turned on his heel and the temperature of the room consequently dropped.

Trézsia had Dagmara's boots off and began tugging on her trousers. "Let me help you with that," Selene said.

"A medical examination and your... experiments are hopelessly confused by the coven," said Štefan.

"I think this coven has been afraid for so long that it can't operate otherwise," Michael said. "Study and experimentation are two wholly different things, as you should know."

The rest of Dagmara's clothes came off and Trézsia covered her strategically with a sheet. "She appears whole," she noted as she gripped, nudged, and poked various points on Dagmara's body. She picked up Dagmara's right hand, revealing the clearly visible red prick mark amongst the tendons on the top. Michael's old apprentice looked up at him. "What happened here?"

Michael fished around in his jacket pocket and pulled out the line. "I found this in her hand. The back end was sticking out of the body bag."

Štefan walked around to his side of the room and took it from him while Trézsia pushed a stethoscope under the sheet. "Her body processes are shut down and she's not healing that wound," he said.

"Why not try and revive her?" said Selene, standing vigilantly over both Trézsia and Dagmara.

Štefan stared at her with his brown, beady eyes for a moment and then said, "I believe we need authorization to do that."

"Soldier of the coven, correct?" snapped Florian.

"Yes," Selene said.

Florian straightened to attention. "You're authorized, then. Do it," he said firmly to Trézsia.

Štefan's entire face frowned. He went to a spigot and dispensed 10 milliliters into a shot glass. "And if she comes up swinging?" he said into the glass.

"With two death dealers and a hybrid in the room, I think we can handle her," said Florian.

"Here goes," Štefan said and passed the glass to Trézsia. She put the glass to Dagmara's chin and tilted it, pouring half of it in.

A minute's wait produced no outward sign of awakening. "Alright, let's pour it out," said Florian, and turned to leave.

Selene helped Trézsia tilt Dagmara until the blood ran out of her nose and mouth onto a rolled up towel. The motion pushed one of her eyelids up, revealing a brown iris.

"She's neither dead nor alive," Štefan declared to the group as they eased Dagmara back. "She's not going anywhere, so I recommend we just leave her here."

Selene closed the eye. "How about you hit the books and see if there's any precedent," said Selene. "Perhaps Tanis wrote about it somewhere."

"Excellent idea," Štefan said neutrally, then made eye contact with Michael.

 _Don't ask me for shit,_ Michael thought. He and Štefan were of one mind, but he didn't want Štefan to jeopardize himself for the sake of science. Henrik and others of his ilk probably weren't out of earshot. "I have a shift starting in a couple hours. Shall we go, Selene?" He intended the tone to be more of an instruction, than a request.

She hesitated, but eventually pried herself away from Dagmara's side to come with him.

After a few steps down the dark, gray, subterranean hall, he said, "I could use a blood sample from her, if you can manage it."

"You don't know when to quit, do you?" she growled. They took two steps up a short stair and then she put her arm out and stopped him. She wrapped herself around him and kissed him.

"You look like you want to stay," he said.

"I feel like I should, but if all she's going to do is lie there, then there's no point. Her whole family is dead, you know."

"So leave an order to call you when she wakes up," he said.

"That's a good idea," a voice said from above. "A word, Michael?" said Florian.

"I'll catch up to you," Michael said to her as she climbed the stairs and went past them both. He looked warily back into Florian's bottomless brown eyes in the dim stairwell.

"Walk with me, Michael," he said abruptly, and walked to the top of the stairs. They took a turn away from the path to the main stair leading to the plaza and instead he found himself in the old communal dining area. It had gone unused since the massacre inside the castle five years ago. Florian put his fingertips on the granite-topped dining table. "I heard the vote didn't go your way tonight."

"That's right," Michael said. He almost said, "Sir", but stifled it at the last moment.

After a long moment, Florian continued, "I don't agree with them, but I do trust you. The reason I trust you, while most other vampires do not, is because Selene trusts you." He paced away a few steps. "The council is afraid of you because most of them just don't know you."

"Well, that's not too surprising since I've pursued my work among mortals."

"That's correct. Since you're working with mortals, you're considered mortal." He strolled back. "And they just don't want you tooling around with the biology of immortals."

"I understand."

"Just in case things get too hot, I've made arrangements."

"What arrangements?"

"I'm not going to tell you exactly. If necessary, you're going to disappear."

"Define hot," Michael said softly.

"'Hot' means that you've attracted the attention of the coven in such a way that your safety may be in danger."

"I see." _I'm glad you clarified that,_ Michael thought sarcastically.

"I know you'll be careful." Florian winked and added with a fang-filled smile, "Out is that way," and nodded in the direction behind Michael.

Walking through the tall, engraved, double metal doors, he found himself in the main plaza of Castle Víg, a one-time battle zone. He walked past the small café where vampires gathered to chat, relax, imbibe, and watch passers-by. Michael simply nodded to them as he walked toward the wide stair that led directly to the light lock and out into the night air.

Outside, he found Selene propped against the Audi with her arms folded and chatting with Duncan. Duncan greeted him warmly with a clap on the shoulder. He felt grateful for the gesture from the tattooed warrior. Despite this, he couldn't wait to be back to his own mansion, though rented from the coven it may be, and seeing his patients at the hospital. He considered Dagmara one of them, as well, though he could scarcely do much for her except to be concerned, reflexively, and perhaps to be figuring out how the liquid in the line affected her. Other circumstances didn't matter to him.

He wondered if Duncan would be one of the vampires to help make him "disappear", as Florian put it.

  
\--0--  
  
  
 ** _Three weeks later_**

Selene flipped through the cache log, rolled it up, and slipped it back into the stainless steel cylinder. As far as she knew, she was the first to find it – or at least figure out how to get to it. Her physical abilities gave her an advantage in certain situations. She dropped one of her pistol tokens into the cylinder, sealed it and dropped it back into the small depression where some kind of footer had been sunk into the meters-high bridge support decades ago. She stood and surveyed her domain at the end of the night. In two months the banks would be crawling with recreational anglers, but for now, she had the reach to herself except for a small tree that had sprouted on top of the tower of stone.

Štefan had made an effort, but in the end had found nothing in the chronicles or in Tanis' personal papers that described anything similar ever happening before to a vampire. He'd even contacted Hypolite, the closest thing to a historian in the pack. Both of these routes proved equally unsuccessful, though Hypolite had sent along an interesting collection of documents. Michael's research, however, seemed to have borne fruit. He had called in a favor at the molecular biology facilities at Semmelweis to help him identify the mysterious liquid. Selene dutifully provided him with blood samples from Dagmara which he took to the lab for testing. The active ingredient in the residue that he'd found in the coiled-up line turned out to be an enzyme inhibitor which, unsurprisingly, also showed up in Dagmara's blood.

Michael had told her an even more interesting thing: that the inhibitor concentration in her blood, true to form for any drug, gradually became lower the longer that Dagmara remained on the clinic table at Castle Víg. As time went on, he almost took on the attitude of an expectant father – he denied it, of course. He continued to inquire about her color or if any change came over her as the inhibitor wore off. She tried to provide whatever information he needed on her condition.

Otherwise, Michael behaved himself and stayed away from the castle, though he chafed at being unable to see his "patient". Spending an inordinate amount of time in the castle and hovering over Dagmara would create too much of a stir. He claimed to be able to predict within half a week when she might awaken or begin some other biochemical process. If whatever had been given her was indeed keeping her in stasis, it seemed reasonable to expect that she would either wake up or perhaps die as originally intended 16 years ago by the lycans.

She was no less expectant than Michael, but the legacy of a centuries-long ruthless outlook made her expectations less sunny. Dagmara could, with equal chances, live or die. That's the way it was when at war.

 _Was it really the cleaners?_ Selene wondered. She hoped Dagmara could provide answers – if she lived. She'd left standing orders with Štefan and the servants to alert her at the first indication of a change in her status.

It was interesting what could change in five years. She'd gone from being an outlaw to a productive member of the new coven. But lately she'd begun flirting with becoming an outlaw once again: by openly defying a writ in order to supply Michael with blood serum. It was all for the best, she reassured herself. And if she wanted it, why wouldn't it be for the best? Florian would never sit for that sentiment, however. Eventually, she would have to jump down from the massive stone piling and let nature take its course. As antibodies combated disease, all unnatural things of the earth might someday be removed – a sentiment that had worked its way into her mind over the past five years. She regretted that Michael's ancestor hadn't lived longer – he probably had many interesting tales to tell. All they had now were scraps and discontinuous memory.

Which would win out? Would hydraulic action by the stream eventually undermine the piling or would the tree win, destroying it from above? She might be around in the ensuing years to see. Standing up, she dislodged a stone from its mortar. She reached down to shove it back into place and then returned to standing. Then she changed her mind and nudged it free with the toe of her fire boot – and then launched it over the side to clatter once... twice... three times against the side of the narrow, 10-meter tall ziggurat before plunging into a pool on the downstream side.

As she scanned the trees arrayed around her on either shore, her satellite rang. As she pulled it out of her jacket pocket, she noted the familiar number of one of the satellite phones at Castle Víg. "Yes?" she said simply.

"You asked to be called," a dour voice said on the other end.

"What's going on?"

"I believe your patient is awakening," Štefan said.

"Really," she said neutrally.

"It's just a twitch of fingers that I saw, but I most certainly saw it."

"No other signs, like a pulse?"

"Not yet. You've been duly notified. Goodbye."

Selene folded the antenna down and deposited the phone back into her jacket. The she hopped off the piling and went into a swan dive, righting herself at the very end, like a cat, and landing feet-first on a wet sediment and gravel island next to the piling. She pulled her boots out of the 10-centimeter holes that they made and strode off toward shore and into the woods as dawn broke over the horizon.

  
\--0--  
  
  
"Thank you, Štefan," Selene said as she reached an adjacent room to the clinic where he kept a makeshift office.

"She's showing more signs..." he said but was cut off by a gagging, wracking cough coming from the closed examination area next-door.

"I think you're right," she said, and made for the examination room.

Dagmara still lay flat on her back, but she moved her arms in a futile attempt to do something with the useless appendages. Her mouth gaped as her body convulsed with coughing spasms. Tears streamed from her wide open eyes.

Selene leaned over Dagmara, grasped the lapels of her uniform jacket, and pulled her to a sitting position. She fell forward into Selene and coughed bloody mucus onto the arms of both Selene's jacket and her own.

Štefan reached in with a fresh towel to hold over Dagmara's face. After a few more productive coughs, she finally quit. "Fuck," Dagmara rasped.

Selene reached out to her chin and tilted it up.

Dagmara's eyes found hers. "Oh, hello, Selene," she said in a stronger voice. Then her brown, closely set, and sunken-in eyes scanned the room around her. "Where the hell am I?"

"You're in Castle Víg," was all Selene managed to say. She didn't want to say too much.

"God, I'm hungry. Can you help me down?"

"We'll bring you something, but you should just rest."

"Ah," she said with a grimace and slapped her hands on her thighs.

"Pins and needles?"

"Yes," she said and flailed some more. "What are we doing here?" Štefan returned with a paper cup of blood and Dagmara drank it down.

"We brought you here from where we found you."

"Found me? From the battle? Did we get them all?"

"What do you remember?"

Dagmara gave Selene a long look and then rubbed her eyes. Then her hands caught her hair, which she pulled out sideways. "I must look like shit." She adjusted her position on the table as if preparing to dismount onto the floor.

"Here, I'll help you."

Dagmara dropped to the floor, and then kept going. Selene seized her around the midsection and pulled her up so that she could get her feet under her. "Sorry," Dagmara said. Then she managed to get to her feet on her own, but then gingerly walked to a chair next to a doorway and carefully sat. "It's good to see you, Selene, by the way," she said through a grimace.

"It's good to see you, too, though a bit of a surprise," she said, not completely succeeding in keeping the suspicion out of her voice.

"So, I survived...?"

"Survived?" Selene said. "We thought you'd died. Kahn and Mason saw you..."

"Yes," Dagmara said and stared off in thought. "It seems like a dream. I got shot at and then a lycan impaled me... here." She indicated her midsection just below her breasts. "Then somebody brought me back and patched me up."

Selene folded her arms and leaned on the raised table that Dagmara had just vacated. "Who patched you up?"

Dagmara put her hands on her head in strained thought. "You know, I don't remember details – just faces and the sensation of pulling and tugging at my body." In the continuing silence, she added. "Maybe you all brought me here?"

Dagmara seemed confused – considering that she'd been in storage for years, it didn't surprise Selene. "No, we left you. You were dead."

"Then _why_ am I here? Is Halldór here?"

That was a question Selene neither wanted to hear nor respond to. "So you got patched up and then what happened?"

"Well... I woke up here," Dagmara said and then looked at Selene expectantly. "Is Halldór here or at Ordogház?"

"He's dead."

Dagmara mouthed the word, _"What?"_

"He died sixteen years ago."

"No he didn't, he was on a different... How long have I been out?"

"Sixteen years, Dagmara. We left you for dead – you _were_ dead. We left you, and the cleaners must have picked you up."

"Cleaners?"

Selene shook her head. "I'll explain later."

"And they cleaned me up?"

"They must have put you in some kind of stasis. We found you in storage."

"Storage," she said incredulously. "All right, Selene. Great joke – now, where's Halldór?"

"If you know Selene for any amount of time, you know that she hasn't a joking bone in her body," Štefan intoned.

Dagmara stared at Selene for what seemed like minutes. _"How?"_ she demanded.

"Halldór died not too long after... we thought you did – in battle, of course."

"God..." Dagmara muttered and bowed her head into her hands.

"Halldór was... _very_... he wasn't the same after you died."

"And Rigel?"

"He was shot. The lycans adapted tracer rounds to emit UV radiation."

Dagmara put her hands in her unkempt brown hair again and bowed her head, doing her best to stifle a sob.

Selene knelt in front of her. "That was five years ago."

"So, it's not 1992 anymore?"

Selene shook her head.

Dagmara looked up and then bowed her head again. "What the hell... So we're in Marcus' reign?"

"No. Marcus is dead."

Dagmara repeated the words under her breath.

"Nobody reigns, Dagmara. They're all dead."

"How in the hell, Selene? What happened?"

She told Dagmara the tale of the cataclysm of five years ago and that now the Elders only reigned within the mind of an unbalanced daughter of Amelia. Afterward, she said, "I'm sorry. Can you stand, now?"

"After all _that?_ "

Selene stood and held out her arm, but Dagmara pushed it away. "So do you know what these cleaners are up to?" she growled, setting her jaw to stave off a wave of sobs.

"Not in this instance... No. The war's over," Selene said, "by the way."

Dagmara looked up at her with another incredulous, wet-eyed stare.

"It's true," Selene said.

"Who else is alive?"

"Not very many else, I'm afraid. We're governed by a council, but only half of the original population of vampires is left. Only four death dealers besides me survive."

"Who?"

"Florian, Haruye, Kou, and Duncan."

"God..." Dagmara said to yet another shock. "What do you do if the war's over?"

"We protect the coven."

"From _what_?"

  
\--0--  
  
  
"Hi, honey. I'm home," Michael said as he reached the second floor of their mansion.

"Feel like curling up with a good book?" Selene said from somewhere in the depths of the laboratory. She'd just risen, and stood at a work table with her back to him, wearing her black silk nightgown. As he approached, he noticed that she rested her hand on a very old and worn briefcase.

"What's this?" he said.

She turned the upright case sideways and let it drop open. They stood, side by side, as it revealed assorted handwritten notes, bound notebooks, analysis pads, drawings, and photographs. Michael picked up a bound journal and opened it. Written in fountain pen on the first page in the upper right corner was: _Salamon Singe, February 2, 1953._

"Where did you get this?"

"It's courtesy of our immortal brethren. The remnants of Lucian's pack removed every scrap of paper that they could find ahead of the arrival of the cleaners."

"They're very trusting."

"They must know we'll take care of it."

"It's not like his experiments produced an ally to the lycans," Michael said, idly flipping pages.

She held up a manuscript. _"On the Chemical Modification of Lycanthrope Change"_ she read from the German. "Do you think he published outside of the pack?"

"Not under that name, at least," he said, resting the edge of the book against his chin.

"How do you know?"

"I checked. When did you learn German?"

"I'll have to tell you a story sometime. Lord Tanis was partially responsible."

"He taught you?"

"I taught myself so that I could read something he sent me."

"It was that important?"

"Curiosity, Michael. You know I couldn't lay off it."

And so, for the next hour, she sat on one end of their sofa with her knees pulled up. She propped Singe's most recent notebook on her knees and translated for him. Through her, Singe told the story of his search for a member of his family to help the lycans defeat Viktor and to win the war. He absorbed and instantly memorized each word.

His mobile phone interrupted him and he answered.

"Michael, you're not going to believe this," said Lockwood.

"What's that?"

"Remember that man who accosted me in the hospital three weeks ago? Well, he came back."

Michael sat upright. "He did? Did he demand the number?"

"I didn't have a chance. He showed up in the emergency room last week with gunshot wounds and he died."

"Holy shit," Michael muttered. "Where is he?"

"He got picked up by... Óbudai Funeral Home. That's all I know. I just found out tonight."

"With burial in Óbudai Cemetery, I suppose. What's his name?"

"Sándor Samaz – are you going to exhume the body?"

"Probably not," Michael said. _Unless we have to._ After hanging up, he looked across at Selene. "Curious?" he asked.

"Absolutely. That's the man who demanded the coordinates to Dagmara?"

"It is, indeed. I'm interested in finding out if he was killed for the same reason as Kati Bodnár."

"As in: does he have a number stamped on his skull?"

"Exactly," he said, rising.

"Who would want to kill a group of mortals who know, or want to know, where the cleaners have a vampire stashed?"

In ten minutes, she'd exchanged her figure-hugging silk gown for black slacks, a long pullover top, and a leather jacket. In another two they kited north on the boulevard on the western shore of the Danube and then took Bécsi Avenue. In time the cemetery entrance loomed on their right with the grounds extending down the equivalent of several city blocks. They passed the entrance and pulled instead into a parking lot on the opposite side of Bécsi from the cemetery. Before Michael could frame the question, he noticed a free-standing sign that read, "Óbudai Cemetery Funeral Home". Near-darkness enveloped them after she shut off the headlights. Even though it was probably after business hours, there were four other cars besides theirs behind the building. The only sign of life within was a single security light illuminating a foyer.

As they walked toward the rear entrance, Selene put her hand to her earpiece. "Good," she said after a moment. "We're about to enter the funeral home to get the number, if there is one." Then she turned to Michael and said, "Haruye and her team are relaxing at the cemetery entrance. Dagmara is with them."

"They must have been right behind us," Michael said. "Why bring her?"

"She asked to come. She wanted to see if she recognizes Mr. Samaz."

They tried the door and found it unlocked. "Do funeral homes usually leave their doors unlocked?"

"I don't know. It doesn't look forced. Anybody about?"

Michael gave the night air a good inhale. Nothing stood out. He shook his head. As soon as they walked into the foyer, however, his mind changed. "I smell mortal blood." His mind sharpened at the aroma and his salivary glands worked in expectation. The single lamp on the polished wood table at the side of the carpeted foyer suddenly seemed brighter. The odor of mortal sweat, fear, and blood wafted out of two doorways on the wall to their right and on either side of the table.

Selene jabbed her index finger toward the nearer doorway and he followed her suggestion. She stepped into the farther of the two doorways while he entered the nearer.

They entered a small chapel and came upon the aftermath of mayhem. Toward the front a man lay on a pew as if struck down while standing on it. He lay on his back staring straight heavenward with his arms dropping straight downward behind the pew. He'd effectively hooked himself thus, preventing himself from sliding downward and off of the pew. Michael looked over at Selene, but she focused her attention on another man who lay on the carpeted floor beneath a flower arrangement to the left of the pulpit. As he began to approach the man who hung from the pew, he passed a pair of feet sticking out between two rear pews. He stopped and searched for a pulse. "This one's dead," he said.

He turned his attention to the other man draped across the pew as Selene reached the man collapsed under the flowers. She glanced at Michael and then knelt down next to the man.

As he reached the hooked man, he could smell the man's fresh, rapid breathing accompanied by audible, rasping sounds. Bullet holes decorated the wooden pews near the fallen man. He gently picked the man up and laid him on the floor in the aisle. Blood soaked the man's coat and clothing and the stink of approaching death clung to him.

The man reached up and grasped Michael's shoulder weakly. "You must stop them," he said.

"Relax, buddy," Michael said while he worked to get to the man's wounds. "Stop who?" he asked. Selene approached and stood at the man's feet.

"The chessmen," he rasped. "There!"

Suddenly, the light streaming into the chapel from the foyer flickered, but before Michael could turn to his left to see the cause, deafening gunshots rang out. Two points of solid pain entered his body at his left shoulder and upper left ribcage. As he began to transform, a machine pistol roared above him. He reflexively put his right arm over his head and bowed. Just as abruptly as it began, the shooting ceased.

Michael then looked up in time to see Selene vaulting over him. She cleared the pews in two steps and then plunged through the window. He looked back toward the chapel entry from where his assailant had lately fired and found bullet holes lining the wall toward the window – he'd evidently tried to beat a hasty retreat to the outside.

Michael struggled to his feet and walked to the shattered window. He reached it just in time to see Selene slug his assailant in the solar plexus with her palm. He sagged to the asphalt in her grip, but she heaved him erect against a nearby car.

"Michael, are you all right?" she called out to him.

"I'm hit twice," he said and then began to mentally prepare to expel the rounds from his body. "Other than that, I'm fine."

"Is the other man dead?"

"Yes," he said while stepping through the ruined window.

She turned her attention back to the man that she had pinned and who bled profusely from an apparent bullet wound in his waist. She grabbed a handful of his short brown hair and forced his eyes up to meet hers. "If you're lucky, he'll convince me to let you get medical attention for that."

"You're out of control," the man hissed between heavy breaths.

"What are you talking about?" Selene said. "What do you want here?"

Michael reached the two in time to see the man break into a grin and rasp out a laugh. "What are you going to do, kill me? Killing me won't change what's to come – and you know what's to come. I can see it in your eyes."

"Come on," she said, and jerked him away from the car by his right arm. The man fought to stand on his own as she dragged him unceremoniously back toward the funeral home door.

"I'll catch up to you," Michael said. He braced himself against the car that the assailant had been pinned against moments ago, and began to heave the bullets out using sheer force of will. After the two bullets clattered on the pavement, he went off to search for Selene. Inside, on the other side of the foyer from the chapel entrances, another, open door beckoned – he went through it in pursuit of the mortal's and Selene's smell.

It appeared to be a body preparation area with a storage room in the back. The light had been turned on in the storage area and he thought he could hear Selene opening drawers. As he walked through the preparation room, he noticed she'd discarded his assailant on the tile floor. Michael went to him and shined his penlight into his eyes. "I think he's going into shock," he said. He peered into the storage area and saw Selene staring into an open drawer. A card inserted into the front read _"Samaz Sándor"_.

"Does he have a number?"

"He does, but I'm afraid somebody, perhaps our friend who just shot at us, has already been here. This man's flesh is scraped away over his ears. The metal plate has been loosened." She worked it free and then pulled out her mobile phone. She pressed a button with a clean finger. "Haruye? I'm going to text you a number and you tell me where it points to." She hung up and entered the digits. A moment later, Haruye squawked in Selene's earpiece. "Really? We guessed right, then. We'll join you in a few moments." She pressed another button, this time to the castle to request a cleanup detail and a donation to the funeral home to cover expenses and to head off uncomfortable questions. She aimed her camera phone at the man's face and took a picture. "For Dagmara," she said in reply to his look.

"I'm calling emergency services to have this man taken to hospital."

She stopped in her tracks. "How about we take them all to the castle? We can find out who shot who."

"This man is _dying,_ " he nearly shouted at her.

"All right, we'll leave him here, call the authorities, and take the bodies in one of their cars. I want to stop in to see what Haruye's found."

He rooted around in his assailant's pockets. "One of the cars has got to be theirs," he said and then held a set of keys aloft. "Here we go."

The authorities might figure it out or might not. The mortal would have some explaining to do to the authorities, or he could simply play the victim. The bullet in him wouldn't be traced anywhere useful. It took 15 minutes to locate the assailant's car and load the bodies. Then he made the call.

They found a vacant lot along Aranyvölgy Street north of the cemetery and parked their cars on the side of the road. They ran through the lot, across a dirt road, and cleared the railroad tracks and the perimeter fence that formed the northern border of the cemetery. In the distance, howling police sirens approached.

They followed the display on the GPS until they entered a section and sighted two vampires milling around a crypt. As they closed the distance, Dagmara and Duncan looked up to greet them. Selene and Michael arrived at the open door to the crypt in time to meet Haruye on the top step of it. "There was some damage to the door," she said, "but when we went in it was obvious why."

"Lycan in the nose, Selene," Michael said.

They descended the stone steps which, just like the rail car, bore signs of recent disturbance in the dirt. Two sets of boot marks led directly to a wooden coffin lid that had been pitched onto the floor from its mounting halfway up the wall.

"Pen light, Michael?"

He tossed it to her and she shined it into the casket. She stuffed a hand in up to her elbow and moved it around within. It caught something and she pulled her arm back out with an amorphous shape attached. Then she threw it down – an empty body bag that emitted a cloud of lycan odor. She shined the penlight quickly around the rest of the interior of the crypt.

"I guess these cleaners don't discriminate in what they hide away," Michael said.

"But this one got away," Selene muttered.


	8. Impact

The three cars: Selene in a borrowed Jetta, Michael in their Audi, and Haruye's team in their Mercedes, ramped onto the E71 from Róbert Károly Boulevard and began zig-zagging toward the northern outskirts of Budapest. She planned to store the bodies at Castle Víg and possibly autopsy them to find out who had shot who and whether any of them had telltale numbers stamped on their skulls.

The lost lycan and the apparent gun-battle amongst this group of mortals confused Selene – if she would ever admit to being confused. The cleaners, if it were really they, had at least one vampire and at least one lycan stored in stasis. She'd not been able to determine their purpose, but the evidence in the car – stored half in the trunk and half on the folded down back seat with a blanket thrown over – suggested that stored immortals were something that mortals, perhaps cleaners, considered important enough to use bullets on each other. Who were the "chessmen"? These chessmen had enemies and she'd become an inadvertent ally of the enemies of the chessmen. Her allies were the custodians of the locations of the sleeping immortals, both vampire and lycan. It made sense that they were the protectors of these sleeping immortals. Perhaps the chessmen wanted to kill – or do something else – with the immortal sleepers.

She pressed a button on her mobile, which sat open in a pocket in the center console. After his greeting, she said, "Michael, you should probably hang back or take a different route."

"Yes, I was just thinking that."

"No sense being caught in a convoy on a motorway with a strange woman and three dead mortals."

"Yes, I can see the strange woman being a problem."

She smiled a moment. "The man we sent to hospital said,... "We" are or "I" am out of control. What do you think that means?"

After a silent pause, he replied, "No earthly idea."

"What's your take on what's going on? Do you think he knew I was a vampire?"

"He seemed to know you."

"He said that killing him wouldn't change what was coming."

"Maybe that's what he means when he said that you were out of control. You can't control what's going to happen – whatever that is."

"At the very least, we have a loose lycan running around and that makes me uneasy. Said lycan might not know that the war is over and if anybody's out of control, it's that lycan."

They signed off and she watched in her rear-view as the Audi's headlights continued straight on the west fork of the E77 as she decelerated into an off-ramp to take the north fork. Somewhere ahead, Haruye's team sped onward.

Mortal set against mortal over access to the locations of sleeping immortals. The chessman was wrong – she did have control, _now_ , that is if any of her cargo had secret locations of other immortals hidden away on their bodies. If Dagmara had a purpose, it wasn't immediately obvious. Hopefully the lost lycan would make it to its pack, if it still existed, and not cause trouble.

A compact car in the far right lane paced her for entirely too long and she glanced over. The single occupant, a male, stared at her as he drove. She gave him her own stare-down, and then decided that it all wasn't worth her time. She rolled her eyes, stepped on the accelerator, and shifted up. In her peripheral vision in the passenger side view, she noted the headlights of her friend drop back, and then accelerate. She decided not to push the Jetta and instead withdrew her pistol. After placing it on the seat, she pressed a speed dial for Haruye.

"Yeah?" Haruye said out of her phone.

"I'm being pursued."

"By who?"

"Don't know. I'm going to try and scare him, but I'll leave it up to you whether you want to drop back."

"We'll keep going. Call us again in five minutes to update."

"Will do," Selene said. She pressed the disconnect button and picked up the pistol as her pursuer arrived outside her passenger window once again. As soon as he saw the pistol pointed at him, his eyes widened in surprise, but he stayed with her. She got off a shot into his driver's side front tire to show him that she meant business. "Shit," she said as his tires squealed and he dropped back.

She'd scarcely put the pistol back down when shots went off and pain exploded in her neck and head. She reacted by reflexively cranking her steering wheel hard to the left. She'd devoted so much of her concentration on her pursuer that she got sucker punched by another vehicle creeping up on her left -- but she had hardly any time to think about all that, now.

She heard more shots, but if any hit her, she didn't feel them. She clenched her teeth and concentrated on keeping the tears out of her eyes. She smashed the third car into the left-side retaining wall with an accompanying screech of ripping metal and squeals of skidding tires.

Momentum carried her car in front of the other and it t-boned the suffering Jetta. It's tires howled in protest. She grasped the steering wheel and hung on as the right-side retaining wall loomed outside of her passenger-side window. She and the Jetta impacted – sideways. The momentum and the force of the impact of the other car into her driver's side doors knocked her sideways onto the center console. The world tilted and she glanced up to see trees, street lights, and buildings rising upward as her car first listed and then plunged over the side of an overpass. She grabbed the edge of the passenger seat, tucked her head, and held on as her stomach and the world spun.

Selene awoke later, unsure of how much time had passed after impact. She remembered the sensation of air rushing through the Jetta's shattered windows as it plunged. She had a splitting headache and was somewhat surprised that she still lived. She thanked Alexander Corvinus, silently, for that.

She and her car rested upside-down on its collapsed roof, pinning her into her seat. _The mortal rescue squad will need to get me out with a machine,_ she thought. _Over my dead body._ A piece of debris a short distance away on the inside of the roof caught her eye and she grasped for it – a blood-coated bullet. She felt around to the back of her head and got a handful of wet, matted, bloody hair. She felt her wet neck and decided that her body had probably expelled the foreign objects before she'd regained consciousness.

The car moved. She lifted her head off her left cheek and craned her neck to look out of each of the collapsed windows. She spotted a pair of telltale furry feet near the back of the Jetta. _Lycan?_ The car moved again and the roof grinded across asphalt. Then a sound of metal fatigue came from the trunk area. One of the bodies moved just behind her and she realized that the lycan, or whatever it was, was trying to remove one of them.

It was time to get out. The crushed driver's side door gave way after two stout mule kicks. Her pistol had disappeared in the fall, so she checked the glove box – no luck. The lycan began retrieving a second body from the trunk of the upside-down Jetta. She wriggled free of her prison, stood up, and found herself eye to eye with a nearly oblivious lycan. It had discarded the first mortal body on the pavement, but the second... the lycan chewed on in an effort to decapitate it, from what Selene could see.

If the lycan noticed her, it didn't react. She scanned the area fruitlessly for her weapon.

"What the hell is that?" she heard a passer-by say. The Jetta and the other car, made indistinguishable, had vaulted off an elevated portion of the expressway and landed in a deserted intersection right at the boundary of an industrial area, probably near Fót, from what she could see. There weren't many other gawkers around, fortunately.

"Stay away, it's dangerous," she said hoarsely to the man who stood just 10 meters away.

"What is _that?_ " the man insisted.

Another man approached him and pointed a pistol. Selene recognized him – and the nearby parked car – immediately as her pursuer from the episode immediately preceding her plunge off the expressway. "I'd get lost, friend," he said.

The passer-by took one look at the gun and took off running down the street toward the industrial area beyond the overpass. The newcomer turned to Selene. He had short brown hair, bulging brown eyes, and looked like a typical street punk. The lycan munched obliviously away. "Are you going to take care of that or shall I?" he asked sarcastically. Before she could respond, he took aim and unleashed a torrent from his machine pistol. The lycan went down in the midst of chewing off the third mortal's head.

Selene went to the first mortal, who had kept his head, rifled through his pockets and found a pistol. She checked it and found it loaded. She pointed it at the newcomer. "I'm betting you're mortal and want to live."

He held the gun not quite pointed at her and breathed heavily.

"Talk to me," she spat. She adjusted her angle and fired a round into his foot.

He barked in pain and dropped to the ground. He put the gun aside, cradled his foot, and glared up at her. "Do _you_ want to live?" he growled.

She was puzzled and pissed. "What the fuck are you talking about?" She marched to the mutilated mortal whose head had almost been separated from its body and pointed her pistol at its left ear. "You know what? If you don't start making sense soon, nobody is going to get these numbers."

"Believe me you don't want to do that."

"Are you a chessman?"

"No. The chessmen are our enemies."

She threw down the mortal, marched over to the kneeling man, and settled down on her haunches next to him. Pain from the wound in his foot had caused his face to flush and contort with the effort to endure it. Her own head and neck continued to throb. "Who are _'we'?_ " she asked softly, just inches from his face.

He hesitated. Her mobile phone rang from somewhere within the wreckage.

She put the barrel of the gun to his temple. "In all my years I've not murdered a mortal in cold blood. We stay out of the business of mortals, but I might make an exception in this case."

"Perhaps you shouldn't create a precedent," another voice said from behind her.

She turned her head and found herself staring down the barrel of a rifle – held by a mortal too close for comfort but too far away to disarm. He appeared older than most – sporting salt and pepper hair, beard, and moustache. He was average height and she could probably take him without too much difficulty, but she still had the headache from the earlier shot to the head. "You're doing something very dangerous," she said, as if talking to a child. If she stalled him long enough, Haruye's team would show up and end the standoff.

"That remains to be seen," he said, while keeping his sights on her. One of his eyelids hoisted higher than the other, making him look like he concentrated hard to keep her in his sights. He spoke in a mutter. His moustache moved mostly. "Your meddling has created a situation and like you, I may be forced to do something contrary to _my_ nature."

"And what's that?" she said.

"We clean up messes, not create them." He glanced to the side, where a handful of other men and women approached on foot. She watched as they went to work, first decapitating the lycan with an oversized meat cleaver, then collecting and packing up the lycan and mortal body parts.

"What do you call the work on that lycan?"

The man grinned under his moustache. "That lycan was after something very important to us, but it's not necessarily any of your concern," he said dismissively.

"I'm standing here with a gun pointed at me. What should I think?"

"Things are direr than that, Selene," he said. "Forty seconds!" he barked out of the side of his mouth.

"Let's go!" said one of the cleaners back to him.

She nodded toward the fallen mortal that the lycan had cast aside and from which she'd obtained her gun. "Aren't you going to take that one?"

"You can have him. He doesn't mean anything except he's better dead than alive."

"What value does he have for you dead?"

"You're good at questions. Time's up!" he barked. His friends cleared out as efficiently as they'd appeared, disappearing into the night as dark as body bags. The cleaner whose foot she'd wounded went with them. They headed south, away from the civilization of the freeway. The mustachioed cleaner lowered his weapon.

She raised hers and pointed it at him. "Why do you protect them – the sleeping immortals?"

"Protect them? We protect you, believe it or not." Then he wrapped the rifle in the folds of his trench coat and turned on his heel.

"I didn't realize we needed protecting," she said to his retreating back, more loudly than a normal tone of voice, but not quite a shout.

As she walked back toward the wrecked cars to retrieve her mobile, Haruye whistled to her from the overpass.

  
\--0--  
  
  
In the courtyard of Castle Víg, with dawn approaching, Henrik greeted the arrival of Haruye's team, Selene, Michael, and one dead mortal, with a sour look. "Let's get him inside," Selene ordered. Dagmara and Duncan began extracting the mortal from the cramped confines of the Audi.

"Is this your latest find, Selene?" Henrik asked. "We're beginning to run out of room for your treasures."

"Don't get excited, Henrik, they won't be a drain on our resources."

"Why have you brought him?"

She wasn't of a mind to deal with Henrik this morning, and in fact, she had half a mind to put him on the stones, useless as he was. She took a deep breath and approached him.

"What happened to you?" he said.

She appreciated the concern. "I got shot and run off the road by a lycan. Then cleaners accosted me and seized the lycan and two of the three mortals."

"Since when are you toting mortals about town?"

Selene's voice sharpened into a bark. "That mortal," she said, pointing behind her, "is apparently an enemy of the cleaners – part of a group called the chessmen – two of which attacked two cleaners earlier tonight at a funeral home where Sándor Samaz had been taken."

Henrik put up his hand. "I'm already lost. You need to talk to Florian about all this." He sighed and scowled at her anew. "So we now have a collection of dead mortals. Why are you involving yourself? Why are you involving _us_?"

 _Why, indeed._ The covenants didn't explicitly say that vampires should avoid interactions with mortals, but feeding from them and having carnal knowledge of them was certainly forbidden. Meddling in their affairs or influencing them to benefit the vampires simply didn't enter into the equation. She took another deep breath. "Sándor Samaz is the same man who confronted Michael in hospital about the coordinates to Dagmara. And the cleaners, I believe, were after Samaz for the same reason."

"You haven't answered me."

Selene fumed. "This mortal – this chessman – is going to stay here, Henrik, because, number one: I want to extract every bit of physical evidence from him and number two," she said, holding up two fingers in front of his face, "if we impound him here, then whoever his friends are may come looking for _him_."

"I don't think we want his friends, or cleaners, or whoever, sniffing around here."

"There is no other secure facility in this country to house him. The basement of Castle Víg is the best place for him. You'll just have to get used to it."

"I'll see what Lord Florian has to say," Henrik said tersely, and turned to leave. Then he looked back over his shoulder. "Where is the other chessman that killed the cleaners?"

"He's in hospital."

He stopped in his tracks. "Why is he there?"

 _I shot him and Michael insisted?_ She regretted both the decision and the prospect of telling Henrik. "You don't need to know. What you do need to know is that the coordinates that Samaz possessed led to a lycan, which we've missed."

"Missed?"

"The lycan freed itself, or was carried off before our arrival."

"You're going to have to kill that mortal, Selene," Henrik said, without his usual antagonism.

"Execute him yourself if you feel strongly about it. The fact is he's more valuable to us alive. He can be questioned." _I'd hate to think of Michael's reaction if I killed that mortal._


	9. The Last Time She Was Dead

György Kósa wished he had the patience of the immortals, if not their fortitude. For a week, he convalesced in the hospital, thanks to Selene's abuse and then her mercy at the funeral home. He wondered if his compatriots knew he was here and if they would pay his bills. He'd been injured in the line of duty, after all. He longed to leave and to be back in control of both his physical and mental faculties.

 _You're out of control._ Yeah, that was a good thing to say to a potential ally. _And now your arms are strapped to the rails of the bed._ For now, though, both she and Michael Corvin were fair targets, especially since they sided with the so-called "keepers". He couldn't take a chance since they'd managed to decipher the codes. He'd taken two out in the most recent battle, but not before they'd shot Keliehor dead. György had been fortunate that Selene was willing to ask questions, rather than execute him, as well... very fortunate. Seldom could any species cross a death dealer and live.

Safe from the death dealer and in his partitioned off world in the hospital, the doctors conspired to deprive him of his sanity. He was grateful for the drugs that the doctors pumped into his system to kill the pain and to help his wounds heal but he feared his mind might not survive though his body live. He knew he needed sleep to help him recover, but he dreaded it, for he had a curious, hallucinatory reaction to the drugs that they administered. He could only wait, helplessly, for the inevitable return of the horrible visitation, with no way to break the cycle. He knew the tormentors would come and he knew he could do nothing to ward them off. The episodes reminded him of why his and his compatriots' mission was so important and what could happen to him if he wasn't careful.

His frightful nights made him feel helpless and alone, uncharacteristically for a warrior such as himself. His original identity had long been forgotten since his earliest days in the service of Lord Alexander Corvinus. He and his compatriots had a mission to fulfill the old immortal's will. As soon as he was well, he would continue – or die trying, just as a death dealer would. Perhaps that's why he said the thing that he'd said to Selene.

He watched warily as the nurse arrived to administer the drugs that would keep the pain at bay and ease him into sleep. If they knew what he experienced in his sleep, they would surely leave him awake, in agony, but sane.

They injected his line with the drug and after a short time; the curtains that separated him from the other patients rippled in a non-existent wind. Dr. Lockwood, dressed in a lab coat and dangling a stethoscope, walked in shortly thereafter. He crept to him, leaned close, and put a pistol to his temple, laughing. "Revenge," he whispered into his ear, "for killing Katalin Bodnár." Pain seared in his temple and his head swam. Lockwood disappeared and after a few moments, he seemed to recover his wits – just in time to welcome his next tormentor.

A dark, shadow-shrouded woman stood at the foot of his bed, watching him through iridescent, silver eyes. "Michael changed his mind," she said, and jerked her arm abruptly forward, releasing blood-encrusted shuriken. As they spun toward his eyes, he woke up screaming, which came out as loud moans. _No, you're not at Trauma Hospital,_ he told himself as he looked around wildly for other visitors.

As the drugs eventually wore off and his horrifying night drew to a close, he became lucid. He realized with a start that the shuriken-pitching chimera did not fade, but continued to stand at the foot of his bed. He felt certain he was awake, for he was aware of the beeping of the monitor above him, the whirring of the I.V. dispenser next to him, and the talking and moaning of other patients in the ward, separated from him by sight only with curtains. In the white tunnel-vision that defined his universe, the dark, female figure stood out in stark contrast. Her manner of dress told him that she might not be there for a friendly visit. His heart raced and he moaned in terror as she regarded him and he imagined what she might do to him in his helpless state. His nightmares had become all too real, breaking him.

He grayed out and then awoke to find that the woman had disappeared. Before he could relax, he felt something on his forehead and then he looked upward, abruptly, to find that the woman now stood at his bedside, leaning over him. She wore a trench coat and a low-cut navy blouse. She turned her head away to look at the monitor. The motion caused a lycan's tooth, suspended on a thin, gold necklace, to drop free of her blouse. Brown hair fell forward and provided a backdrop to the grisly trophy.

Recognition came to him. "Are you a dream, Ophelia?" he muttered in a voice barely above a whisper.

She looked down at him with a vacant expression. "No, György."

Something wasn't right. "Where are your dogs?"

"Oh... ah, Janas has them. They're outside." She reached up, then, and felt along the tube leading from the I.V. dispenser to his arm.

He brightened. He'd wanted to take out the tube for a long time, now, just to stop the dreams. He'd worry about the pain later. "Have you come to rescue me?"

She turned back from the monitor and then made eye contact with him again. She continued to finger the line and then disconnected the I.V. tubing from it. "Not like you think," she said, and put the tubing to her lips, briefly revealing elongated canines.

"What are you doing?" he muttered, and then he scream-moaned as he realized what she did. He watched, helplessly, as she forced saliva into the tubing. She reconnected it and let it drop. "Why are you doing this?" he said, panic rising with the realization of the consequences. She'd been a death dealer once upon a time, but what she did confused him. He was her ally, not the enemy – or had the objective changed?

She turned to leave, but stopped at the end of his bed, faced him, and put her finger to her lips. "They are coming."

"Who?"

"The coven. You cannot fall into their hands."

"Take me with you!"

"I cannot," she said without emotion.

"We took care of you while you slept. Why can't you do the same for me?"

"I'm doing what's necessary."

"I'm still loyal and I'm dedicated to seeing the mission through! Why are you killing me?"

"It's not how you think, György. Farewell," she said, and touched his foot under the covers.

As she walked out, he looked down at the bubble of saliva as it disappeared into his arm. He had scarcely enough time to consider what to even think about in his last moments. The beeping above him grew more insistent and then blended together as new beeps happened before prior beeps ended. Then the beeps merged into a single squeal of feedback. His mind circled around it, trying to discern its nature. As he merged with it, the white tunnel acquired a silver tint – almost like the silver-white of Selene's enraged eyes – and then the room vanished. He slipped into a place where terrifying things no longer bothered him.

  
\--0--  
  
  
 ** _Two Weeks Later_**

Erika was about to do it all again, ironically. She plunged through the air, but not like before. This time, she felt quite alive and whole. Before, she fled from the flames, but now she dove into a situation to retrieve two from her recent past who needed help. They weren't in danger, but Michael needed safekeeping.

Eduardo and Kou accompanied her on this flight. The former, a Kollárista, had come in order to protect her – on behalf of a clan of vampires who protected Lady Amelia's memory. The latter, a death dealer, had come to Brazil in search for it. He'd taken advantage of Erika's trip to hitch a ride back home to Hungary. She wondered if he'd been successful in his mission.

The last time that she'd seen Selene, she'd been dead – in a dream, but in a most unsettlingly real dream. She'd somehow stumbled into death's horrible kingdom and it had been if the God that she'd known so long ago had decided to take back His gift of immortality – and all at once, as if plunging into her own private hell.

Oftentimes she recalled a surreal memory of her last moments, when she'd rushed through air with her hair on fire. When she'd hit bottom, she'd crashed right on through the ground with a crunch of bone, rather than glass. At that moment, the sound of the air rushing past her ears had turned into an all-encompassing ringing.

In the memory, she walked into a gore-covered room and approached a figure, dressed in black, slumped head-down against a masonry wall. She'd heard in the chaos that Kraven had been killed in this room, and so she'd gone to him, in spite of everything. At the very least, she'd needed to see for herself. Except, her body felt strange and she couldn't seem to shake the squealing in her ears. She pushed forward with the desire to see and know. She stood above the slumped figure and then realized, looking at the boots and the cape, that the vampire that lay before her wasn't Kraven. She wasn't inside the Elder's crypt with the exploded floor anymore, but somewhere else entirely – outside, actually, in a dark, fetid tunnel. She was dressed in white, as she often did these days. When she thought she'd feel fear, she did not, and this made her feel better. _But where is Kraven?_ She wondered. Curious, she reached down and grasped a handful of hair and lifted upward. A graceful, dirty cheek presented itself to her and then pale, blue eyes stared dully upward. A jaw hung slack and a fly landed on the face – _Selene's_ face. In her right mind, she would've dropped the death dealer's head, instantly, but somehow the constant ringing took her fear away. Though she felt emotionally fatigued, she nevertheless picked up the lifeless body of Selene and carried her off to... a place in the strange memory that she couldn't recall. What she _could_ recall was that she'd known exactly what to do.

She touched down on the Earth's reassuring solidity, grateful to be alive. Death, 'The Great Attention-Getter,' as Lady Léna had said often enough, had rearranged her priorities five years ago. Having experienced it, she could understand how Selene might have changed after that fateful night of her own death just 16 years ago. Somehow, someway, Erika had gone there to be with her. All this talk lately of cleaners and stashed bodies had put disturbing thoughts into her head – thoughts that she would take care not to reveal.

Her satellite phone rang. "Good Evening, Lord Florian," she said pleasantly into it.

"They have been notified and are en route to the airport. You have their number if you need to find each other."

"Thank you, Lord. Lady Léna sends her regards."

"And I do to her in return, Erika."


	10. Live, Dead

Selene had ample time of late to think about what she would do from this night forward. In the last two weeks, among other things, she'd packed her possessions into a half-meter square shipping box. Michael, with one foot still firmly planted in the mortal world, had fit his into several such boxes. Into hers she packed the odd book, recordings, papers, photographs, her GPS, a holster, and some of her better clothes. Into Michael's boxes fit many books, research notes, his own clothes and toiletries. She'd locked away her weapons and planned to send the key to Lord Florian. Her collection of pistols and knives couldn't be transported and wouldn't be needed in their planned destination. Her 300-year old, hand-crafted sword, presented to her and etched with her name by its recently deceased maker, held less meaning for her now. Michael's tools, including his microscope and other laboratory equipment, would also stay. The new resources at their disposal promised to be more advanced than what he scraped together on these shores.

Her battle with the cleaner that they'd encountered in the funeral home had lasted just seconds. Her battle with the coven over his fate had lasted a week afterward. She and the coven agreed that the cleaner was a threat. She even saw the advantages of all sides of the argument: the coven should kill the cleaner for attacking a vampire or the coven should keep the cleaner alive for questioning. Her personal opinion, dissenting from the majority of the coven, was that the coven should not be in the business of executing mortals. She fully realized that it was as much Michael's attitude as hers.

Only she and Michael knew the mortal by sight and short of murdering everybody in the hospital, the coven couldn't do anything about the chessman. The cleaner and his brethren had shown they would stop at nothing, even murder, to obtain the coordinates to the locations of the sleeping immortals. For her obstruction, council punished her once again. In another time, she might be sentenced to death, but no vampire in the coven had the strength, much less the will, to carry the sentence out. Besides, they would need to get through Michael first. And so, they would leave the mansion much the way they found it. They would leave the coven, unfortunately, as a different place. Florian, her old ally, recognized this and had long ago made all the arrangements for their orderly departure.

It had been awhile since the last firm, finger-wagging lecture from Florian. Selene had refused a direct instruction from him to track and assassinate the cleaner, but she had sensed his outburst actually resulted from frustration over a further weakening of the coven that he put so much faith in. In the end, she'd relented and provided a description of the mortal. Florian then had dispatched Haruye to terminate the cleaner, but she'd returned from the hospital without success. The escape of the mortal from the coven's reach had then been laid at Selene's feet and had added to the coven's ire. Florian's words, though felt like a metal plate against her head, didn't have nearly the impact that the news of her suspended duties did. She didn't blame them: she would've done the same thing if a death dealer or a soldier under her command had refused an order. In war, discipline had to be kept – except, this was an investigation, not war.

She'd allied herself, again, with Michael and, along with the other accusations against her, her loyalties had rightfully been called into question. Michael had tried to help by lending a comforting word, but there hadn't been anything he could do that she would accept. She'd appreciated the gesture, but as in most things over the centuries, she simply did what she had to do and accepted the consequences. If she couldn't serve the coven then she couldn't serve the coven and that was that.

She hadn't lost much, she'd concluded. To act against Michael's wishes would've cost her much more... and that was all the confirmation she needed that she'd grown apart from the coven.

In all the recent excitement, she hadn't the chance to make a call that she'd wanted to make. Now she did. Free from the coven, she realized she could now contact whomever she pleased without fear of punishment or exile.

She settled into the sofa in the sitting area near Michael's study on the second-floor of their mansion and pulled out her mobile phone. For whatever reason, she still had the use of it. She dialed a number that she hadn't used in well over two years and not since before she'd been exiled for a year for her part in engineering a truce between lycans and vampires. At that time, she'd been just as sure of the rightness of her actions. This time her gut told her that engaging in blatant, public hostilities with mortals could lead to a disastrous outcome. A dead mortal couldn't be questioned and it seemed like the coven needed to know more about the purposes of these strange, murderous mortals. The discovery of the resting place of a lycan had made a call like this necessary.

After several electronic rings, a voice answered with centuries-old vocal chords, apparent age undiminished by modern communications technology. "Yes, Selene?" the lycan's voice rasped.

She hesitated at first and then plunged ahead. "Emánuel, I need your help."

"What have you done?" the ancient lycan replied. "And what will it cost the coven or you to make it right?"

"The coven is rid of me, and I've not much to offer."

"And yet you still call me."

"I'm calling to exchange information, nothing more."

"Well then, present your information."

"Has the pack been reunited with a lycan that had been killed several years ago?"

"Which lycan?"

Selene felt a jolt of adrenaline. She knew of more than one, but confirmation put her on edge. "I don't know which, but we have reason to believe that one may have returned to the pack. Not only that, one attacked me three weeks ago."

Emánuel gave her silence for several moments. "We've had no such reunion and I authorized no such attack," he said defensively. He took his responsibility for Budapest seriously, evidently. "What makes you think there is a resurrected lycan wandering about?"

"The cleaners are up to something."

"Perhaps they no longer clean, but do the opposite? I thought Alexander Corvinus' mission was to clean up messes, not disturb Selene."

 _Indeed,_ Selene thought. "They've apparently stashed immortals around Budapest in some sort of stasis. We've retrieved and resuscitated one vampire, but we've discovered that there's at least one lycan who'd been preserved and resuscitated."

"You didn't resuscitate this lycan?"

"No."

"How do you know it was a lycan?"

"There was lycan smell."

"What makes you think this lycan will seek us out?"

"Because a vampire that we found and resuscitated was a member of our coven who we thought had died many years ago. Apparently the cleaners retrieved the vampire and placed her in storage."

"Then _she_ was clearly not dead. Who, may I ask has reappeared?"

"Dagmara."

"Oh yes. I remember when we killed her." Then he audibly drew breath. "Where was the supposed lycan storage place?"

"I'll send you coordinates. Will you be paying a visit?"

"We remember the smell of every lycan who has ever lived as well as you know vampires by sight. You say the coven is rid of you, so what battle do you fight, death dealer?"

"I want to avoid a new battle," she said.

"What makes you think there is a risk of battle?"

"Because of violence committed by the cleaners, Emánuel, to seek out the locations of these immortals."

"Or, defend their location, perhaps?"

 _Indeed._ "We should meet to discuss what's happened recently."

  
\--0--  
  
  
Selene took the Audi back to Aranyvölgy Street, where she, Michael, and their collection of dead mortals had parked three weeks ago when they'd investigated Óbudai Cemetery. She and Emánuel had agreed to meet under cover of darkness – old habits died hard. She'd thought of leaving her pistol at the mansion, but then had thought better of it. Ironically, the threats came from mortals, rather than lycans these days. In recognition of the truce between the races, she came alone while Michael slept. "I'm only meeting with lycans," she'd said.

Dressed as black as the night, she wrapped the moonless night around her and slipped into the cemetery. Inside the northern perimeter fence, she immediately came upon a female lycan. "Good Evening," Selene said to her, and then moved past. The lycan stared and said nothing. Considering their centuries of history, it was an improvement. _They must have smelled our entry point from three weeks ago._

She entered the section of the cemetery where they'd found the lycan's temporary resting place to find three other lycans of Emánuel's pack standing in the periphery. She felt gratified that they appeared to be relaxing and she actually recognized two. She received a nod from one. Ahead, Emánuel stood beside the crypt with his arms clasped behind him. As she approached, he pursed his lips in a way that it looked like he'd eaten something disagreeable. He looked down and then put his face back to neutral as he looked up again. Otherwise, he appeared the same as their last meeting – tall and wiry, with hazel eyes and light brown hair that had been cut at his neck. He controlled his body under unassuming clothing.

"Emánuel," she said by way of greeting.

"Selene," he said in a tone of voice that suggested he thought introductions boring, but performed them out of necessity. Despite this, she didn't sense much hostility at all, unlike five years ago.

"Have you had a chance to investigate?" she asked, glancing in the direction of the crypt.

"Yes."

Selene raised her eyebrows.

"It's a lycan named Onyx. Your friend Kou killed him, by the way, many years ago. So, tell me, _Selene_ , what do you suppose is going on? I see an empty crypt and I smell a live, dead lycan, and many, many vampires who have trampled this hallowed ground."

"I'll tell you what I know. The coordinates..."

"Coordinates?"

"...yes, GPS coordinates, to this crypt and the place we found Dagmara were stamped on the skulls of mortals. There are others of these mortals, some sort of armed brigade, who are, or are affiliated with the cleaners. Now, there is another group of mortals called the "chessmen", who appear to be in conflict with the previous group. Both groups want to obtain these numbers, but I've not been able to figure out why."

"You said a lycan attacked you."

"Yes, after we left here, my car was rammed by a lycan, who also seemed to be after the numbers."

Emánuel made no response, other than to look down and study several points on the ground.

"Emánuel, after the wreck, the lycan started tearing off the heads of two of the dead cleaners that we had with us."

"What did this lycan look like?"

She folded her arms. "Scruffy."

" _Dead_ cleaners?"

"They're killing each other over these coordinates. The important thing that you need to know is that immortals are awake which should be dead. We haven't been able to figure out why they are waking up, although we know the mechanism. They are being preserved in stasis by a chemical, which somebody injects periodically, we think. We don't know who is performing these injections..."

Emánuel put his hands up. "When did all of this start?"

"About eight months ago. A cleaner that Michael had been acquainted with was murdered by a chessman, I believe. Oh, and one more thing: the cleaner had a sword, a very old sword, which had the name 'Charles' and the year 1419 etched on it."

Again, Emánuel said nothing and seemed more interested in studying his shoes.

"Do you know who Charles is?" Selene prompted.

A burst of laughter erupted out of him and he threw his head back toward the night sky.  But only for a moment.  His controlled outburst ended, he regarded Selene with amusement in his eyes for several long moments.  Finally, he said, "You ought to know, Selene, _you_ killed him."

"When?"

"During that great era of mass killing of immortals - one century ago.  Just like the mortals did."

Selene had no idea that she'd executed a 500-year old lycan in her career. "So old... and he had his own sword." _Just like me._

"He was one of Lucian's first lieutenants, in that generation who knew both William's brood, the _primoris lupis_ , and the race that came after. So, where is that sword?"

"I don't know, Emánuel. Perhaps the police have it and puzzle over it."

"Am I to understand that you are now a free agent?"

"Yes, Michael and I are being exiled, so you won't have us around much longer."

"If I may be so archaic," he said, taking an exaggerated bow, complete with a sweep of the arm, "you are welcome as a guest in my den, should you need shelter. And you are especially welcome, if someday you find that Michael no longer suits you."

She grinned. "Thank you, but I will no longer be in this country."

"Thank you for the information. We'll keep a nose out for live, dead lycans and unclean cleaners."

  
\--0--  
  
  
He heard her, smelled her, and even caught a glimpse of her out of the corner of his eye as she reached the bottom of the steps leading to the game room. He looked up from his prone position on the pool table, stick at the ready. He slid it forward and connected.

As the target ball sank in the corner pocket, she said, "Just got off the phone. She's coming." She took up a position amongst the spectators, giving them all an once-over.

He walked around the opposite side of the table, considering his next shot. He pursed his lips and nodded.

"Got to _go_ , Michael," she insisted.

"Two minutes?"

She granted him that, wordlessly, and he used most of it to run the table. As he picked up his winnings from the bet holder, she strode out with eight pairs of eyes following her. He stifled a grin and walked to the bar. "A round... for these guys," he said and pointed his finger over his shoulder. He left his money on the bar and made for the exit. He caught up with her on the plaza of his namesake university, outside of the Student Union. She was on the phone yet again.

"What happened?" he asked as she finished.

As usual, she began walking ahead of him, forcing him to catch up. "The Lower Council just brought a vote to the floor to censure you."

"So they're getting us both."

"They're just piling on. You're not even a member of the coven," she spat.

"I guess I am when they want me to be."

They found the Audi and she retreated into stony silence for their trip across the river. In time they arrived at Ferihegy Airport, and Selene's scowl deepened. Michael knew why: she'd been defeated in this battle, but she would never admit it. She'd tell the coven to fuck off, rather. It had to get to her – the coven had stripped her of responsibilities and she exiled herself with him. Waiting to greet them in South America was Lady Léna, who, in her bad days saw Selene in an ancient, merged Elder memory and who promised an uneasy welcome.

They parked the Audi and proceeded to the General Aviation Terminal. They found the black Gulfstream emblazoned with a navy blue 'O', looking very much at home in the night. At the base of the stairway on the tarmac stood Kou, and immediately Selene went to him. The old warriors stood at arms length from one another and then embraced.

"I hear you've accepted an invitation," he said.

"Michael, mainly," she said. "I'm coming along for the ride. There's not much left for me here."

"I hope you find something. I think we're destined to be death dealers."

After a moment, she said, "Did you find what you went there for?"

"I think so," he said. To Michael, he seemed more assured than Selene. She handed him the keys to the Audi and he gestured upward to where Erika waited just inside the doorway in the fuselage.

As she ascended the stairway, Selene hesitated for a moment. She glanced around the tarmac, back at the terminal, and then upward once again.

Michael shook hands with Kou and then followed Selene. "Do you see something?" he said as he reached the landing.

Selene turned to Erika. "Who are those people watching us?" she asked.

Michael glanced at the terminal windows and saw a single figure, male, standing there with arms folded and wearing shades.

Erika tilted her head to the side and looked in the same general direction. "Probably segurança," she said. At Selene's stare she added, "Mortals who work for Léna's company. They came ahead of us."

"Why?"

"We appreciate you more in the West."

  
\--0--  
  
  
Airborne, Selene sank into a rear cabin seat and wore an expression that suggested she'd left all cheerful thoughts on the ground that receded below them. Michael, facing her from a seat diagonally across from her, recognized the look and knew that she would not be trifled with. Erika apparently got the hint and fortunately didn't do or say anything immediately to deliberately antagonize her. He knew they had a longer history with each other and seemed to have an unspoken language, indecipherable to him. Michael had thanked Erika while Selene sulked. He made a mental note to have a chat with Selene later. For now, he contented himself with observing the two cats wordlessly facing off across the rear of the Gulfstream.

Selene's eyes tracked Erika as she crossed in front of Michael and sat next to him, facing Selene. "It's good to see you again, Selene," she commented.

Selene kept her gaze on Erika. "Thank you," she said. "I heard you'd survived."

Erika nodded.

"You work for Lady Léna, now?"

"Yes, I work for her shuttle company – but I do other things."

"Such as?" asked Michael.

Erika stared at Selene. "She sent me to pick you up."

"Why you?"

"You have to admit I'm a bit lower profile than Kolláristas."

"And it's not like we can't protect ourselves," Selene said dismissively, nodded in the direction of Eduardo, and then looked out the window.

"Maybe you can, but in this instance you chose not to," Erika said.

Selene looked away from the window again, this time directly at Michael. "The coven isn't our enemy. This is just a misunderstanding."

"So it's a failure to communicate?" Erika said.

"We tried to reassure everybody, but certain vampires insisted we were doing something nefarious."

"The insubordination part or the immortal study part? You tell me."

"Selene for the former and me for the latter," Michael chimed in.

"I imagine it ran afoul of somebody's interpretation of covenant... putting vampires under a microscope..." Erika prompted, tapping her cigarette over an ashtray balanced on the knee of her white pinstripe pantsuit, protected by a napkin.

Selene made a _tsk_ noise and turned abruptly back to the window.

"What I got from Council and others was that my investigations might turn up a way to kill vampires," Michael continued.

Erika took a puff from her cigarette as she listened.

"If you and I weren't both hybrids, they would be encouraging your work, not persecuting you," Selene said from the window.

"So, have you come up with a way to kill vampires?"

The question chagrined Michael. The fact was that he hadn't. Though if he had, he wouldn't publicize it. He glanced at Selene, who looked back at Erika with eyebrows knit together. "I'm just researching, Erika," he said.

After a long draw on her cigarette, she said, "Well, you'll get a chance to do more of that when we touch down."

"Do you speak for Lady Léna?" Selene asked acidly.

"No, I'm just collecting you. I'm only asking these questions to satisfy my own curiosity."

"Michael's no threat to the coven, I can assure you," Selene countered.

Erika looked at him sideways and grinned. "No, I suppose not." Michael remembered the last time he'd seen Erika, five years ago, upside-down and hissing at him.

The captain's voice came on the intercom and chattered something in Portuguese. Erika responded by buckling her seatbelt.

"What was that?" Michael asked, following her lead.

Erika picked up her ashtray as the plane began to bump and weave. "He said to stand by for turbulence." After a few moments they cleared it and she added, "Léna's taking a big chance, you know, bringing you two west."

"How so?"

"She's going straight up against the rest of the coven, and Lord Dömötör, by giving you sanctuary."

"Well, what can the coven do about it?" asked Michael, curious.

"Nothing," Erika said, "for now."

"Is she just seeking some sort of strategic advantage?" Michael asked.

"She doesn't think that way."

"But the Elders do," Selene said.

Erika looked at her pointedly and leaned back in her seat. "It's all business to Lady Léna." She rested a hand on Michael's knee and added, "She wants to make money off you. If each of us gets what we want, what's the harm, hmmm?"

She removed her hand after a few uncomfortable moments. He tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling while Selene gazed out at glittering civilizations below. His phone rang and Selene looked back at him almost jealously. He recognized the number as originating from Trauma Hospital. "Michael Corvin," he announced, and stood up to pace about the cabin.

"It's Adam. I think I've found some more information that should solve the mystery about the man..."

"Kósa?"

"...yes, who disappeared," Lockwood continued.

"Yes?"

"First of all, I'm 99 percent sure he's the guy who killed Katalin Bodnár in front of me."

"That's good to know."

"Well, too late for Bodnár. Anyway, he'd been transported to the basement for an autopsy because everybody thought he'd been poisoned or something."

"Yes, you told me he'd seized and then all his vitals went."

"I finally was able to get a hold of the report on his disappearance – it had all been hushed up."

"The hospital didn't want to be embarrassed?" Michael said.

"That's what I think. They found security tapes that showed Kósa just walking out the front entrance."

Michael stopped in his tracks. "Really?" was all he could say.

"Nobody knows where he went. His apartment has been abandoned."

Behind him, Michael heard Selene's mobile phone ring. He looked over his shoulder as Selene withdrew it with an exaggerated flourish and answered it. "Jesus Christ," Michael said into his phone.

"Does this have anything to do with the reason you requested his transport from St. John's to here?"

"No, I thought he'd receive better care, there, actually," he said, lying. He thanked Lockwood for the update and returned to his seat, mind unsettled. He'd moved Kósa, without Selene's knowledge, to get him away from the coven's assassins, but something bizarre had happened anyway.

Selene stared at him. "What was that about?" she asked, nodding in the direction from which he'd come.

"Just a report on one of my patients," he said.

"Which one?"

"I'll have to tell you later," he said, and then looked sideways at Erika, who gazed serenely back at him. "You?"

"Castle Víg."

That piqued Michael's interest. He looked a question at her.

"It was Florian, actually. Dagmara is missing – went out for a walk and didn't come back."


	11. Strange Sisterhood II

As they flew west, the sun and sleep caught up to the travelers. Up long past his bedtime, Michael's eyes closed and he began to breathe deeply as the black jet sliced toward daylight sky over the Atlantic. Selene asked for a blanket, which Erika provided. Selene threw it over him as Erika watched approvingly.

Eduardo appeared in the short foyer leading from the cockpit to the cabin, glanced at Erika, and then walked past, toward the rear.

"I need to get to shelter," Erika said simply, and gathered her shoulder bag and jacket.

Selene's eyes followed Erika, and then settled on Michael, whose jaw hung slack in deep sleep.

"We have blood and a bed if you'd like either," Erika added over her shoulder.

Selene maneuvered around seats, followed her to the rear of the cabin, and passed through two sets of light-tight doors. She found herself in a small, elongated, windowless room that featured two seats that faced each other across a table and a small desk area beside. In this office module, Eduardo settled in and began using the PC.

Selene joined Erika in the other seats. "Hungry?" Erika asked.

Selene shook her head.

"It's all right, he doesn't understand Magyar," Erika added, nodding in the direction of Eduardo.

"So, where have you been?" Selene asked. She'd shaken off the gloom of her exile and decided to engage Erika – if only for a lack of other things to do.

"When Marcus set the mansion on fire, I nearly burned to death. I was out of it for days and when my body finally healed to the point that I could wake up, I found myself in Gellért mansion."

"That's what I heard."

"And then I stayed with the Gellérts for three years, four months. I just hid in their basement." Erika went quiet and then continued more softly. "I suppose I couldn't handle what happened and didn't know what I would eventually do."

"We each have our way of dealing with things," Selene offered, surprising herself. "But it looks like you did well for yourself... eventually."

"Well, I needed help early on. The Gellérts decided for me that I needed to do something with my life – being an immortal and all. I think they might've thought of me as their new Zsanett."

"It's funny how that goes. I guess you weren't enough like her?"

Erika shook her head. "Then Lady Léna needed somebody to take over operations in her company so she could concentrate on other things."

"What do you do for the company?"

"I keep the schedule, book some flights, and keep things running."

"And what does Léna do?"

"She manages the finances and concentrates on the hospitality end. She's more of a schmoozer anyway."

"That sounds about right," Selene said, recalling Léna's debut as a mistress of Lord Víg, from whom she eventually bore a child. "She probably has family obligations, as well."

Erika nodded and then became more serious. "Can I ask you something?"

"What?" Selene prompted, softly.

"What do you remember about the time just a few days after Halldór died, when you went out on your own in search of lycans to kill?"

Selene shook a strand of hair out of her face. "Why bring this up? I don't understand."

"I'm curious to know." Erika squinted for a moment, folded her arms on the table and leaned closer. "After everything else that's gone on, it shouldn't be too hard. Humor me."

Selene glanced over her shoulder to where Eduardo tapped obliviously away on the keyboard. She studied the table and decided that not much harm could be done by talking about the past in this instance. "What I remember is pain and despair because Halldór had lost his purpose in life after the lycans killed Dagmara."

"I remember you took it pretty hard. Without Lord Viktor around, you had to take care of yourselves."

"I hated Halldór's _guts_ , Erika, but he was a hell of a warrior."

Erika tilted her head in concentration.  "What happened out there, Selene?"

Selene broke eye contact again. "I spent days in the tunnels under Buda. I killed and maimed what I saw, and then... and then I started hallucinating because I hadn't fed."

"What did you see?"

"Among other things, I thought that I was being chewed to pieces by lycans. I think I was near death, and then Viktor came and carried me out."

"Viktor was asleep."

Of course he'd been.  She'd never been able to explain to herself what had happened and had always chalked it up to hallucination.  She'd told nobody else, all these years.  Selene tracked Erika's eyes again. "I _know_ , Erika, and it doesn't make sense. I've long stopped trying to make sense of it. I don't even remember leaving the tunnels. I just half remember walking the streets of Pest – somehow I got there – and going to a safe house. Patricia and Kahn came for me and took me back to the mansion."

Erika sat back. "Dr. Ljubomirsky said that it looked like you'd been in the sun and had been dragged through mud."

"I don't remember the sun part."

"And there was a gap?"

"Yes, a gap. Everybody said I'd been away for a week, but it didn't feel like it."

Erika leaned close again and said earnestly, "I'm going to tell you something that I don't want you to repeat to _anyone_." She glanced toward the light lock that led back out to the front portion of the cabin. "... not even to Michael," she added.

"What?"

"Ever since I awoke in Gellért Mansion, I've had occasional dreams and visions – things that I know I haven't experienced, but remember."

"Like what?" Selene said softly.

"Like... I was there with you in the tunnels under Buda after Halldór died. That's why I asked."

"How is that possible?"

"Selene, I think you actually died out there... and I brought you out." Erika gazed at her expectantly.

"I'm not sure which of us has the more nonsensical dreams," Selene said wryly and abruptly stood. "Where's the bed?"

Erika stared up at her for a moment and then nodded toward Selene's right. She felt Erika's eyes follow her as she slid the door sideways and entered the sleeping room, which, like the conference area she'd just left, was shallow and long. It contained two cots arranged end to end. She pulled off her boots and wriggled underneath the covers of the cot nearest the forward part of the plane. After a few moments, Erika entered, sat on the other bunk, removed her own shoes, and lay down.

"Do you remember anything else?" Selene asked into the near-dark.

Erika sighed audibly. "Not much that's clear. For certain I remembered bringing you out of the tunnels because I think I'd been thinking about you for awhile – since I learned that you might be traveling to Brazil to be with us."

 _The last thing I want is to be reminded of things I'd rather forget,_ Selene thought. _And I'm about to be put on the same continent as Viktor's memory._

It must have been the claustrophobia of the sleeping area, but alas, her own dreams wouldn't let her forget. In them, she returned to the abandoned factory, where a small pack of lycans had been rousted. She and Halldór descended a stairwell – he with his immense sword held upward at his side, ready to whip it forward the moment the enemy entered its deadly range, and she at his left, with her Berettas drawn, firing bursts at the slightest movement ahead of them.

Though they were death dealers, exterminators, and didn't shy away from the prospect of death, they still didn't put themselves in situations where death was certain. Death dealers were not reckless, but Halldór was reckless tonight, charging ahead and leading with his old sword – as if he'd lost sight of the future, perhaps deliberately so since the future didn't include Dagmara. Selene didn't realize this until later, when she'd chased his phantom.

They needed to wait for support before attempting to clear this level, but Halldór proceeded onward, anyway, and she was duty-bound to accompany him. He'd never listened to her before and wouldn't listen to her cautions now, so she simply followed his lead into the abyss.

In the mazelike storage areas full of litter and discarded equipment they crept, tirelessly and carelessly. In near total darkness, she mostly followed the sounds of the slipping of his boot against floor and the heaviness of his breathing. His huge presence was hard to miss, no matter how she sensed it.

The lycans must have smelled them first – as she and Halldór entered a room, they were met with muzzle flashes and a roar of small arms fire. Selene returned fire instinctively, all the while feeling the reply of several slugs into her own body. The firing subsided from the lycan side almost as soon as she opened fire, but she realized of a sudden that Halldór had left her side. Further, she realized that a flash that she'd seen moments before was actually a reflection of muzzle flash on his sword that he'd brought around in a great arc. "Halldór!" she called out.

Something shot at her in reply, so she ducked behind nearby metal shelving, discarded her spent clips and reloaded. She stood again and then strode forward, firing straight in front of her. In the flashes, she found a lump on the blood-slicked floor. She sank down on her haunches, found an enormous boot, and her heart nearly stopped. "Bastard," she whispered. She then sat completely still and scanned the nearly pitch-black expanse about her for several long moments. Confident that the area was clear of the enemy, she cracked a light stick and tossed it a couple meters away.

Yes, Halldór had died – probably from bullets directed at his head. Nearby, two lycans lay in pieces, likely victims of Halldór's final cut. She pulled his sword from underneath him and hefted the heaviness and solidity. She went through his pockets and pulled out his billfold, knives, and guns and pocketed them all in her jacket. She walked out, heavy with metal.

As she walked, she suddenly realized she was not alone and her purpose had changed. She felt lighter, and confidence somehow returned and despair at Halldór's death abated. She rediscovered Halldór, but this time she had a lamp and others' lamps had joined hers in brightening the room. She discarded the sword and gathered up her old nemesis instead. She'd become Erika the valkyrie in her dream, collecting the dead dealers and taking them to heaven. Task accomplished, she then took the next step of her endless journey.

Selene jerked violently awake, sat up, and looked wildly about. A rumbling under the jet told her that they'd touched down. After her breathing calmed down, she recalled what had caused her to awaken – she'd dreamt of killing a lycan, and then had stood over it in satisfaction. Then, with her comrades around her, and as she'd licked the lycan's blood from her teeth and wiped it from her beard, she'd leaned still closer to study the dead creature's face and somehow had recognized the lycan known as Charles. She'd closed her hand into a fist over the lycan's dead face and had squeezed. As her blood had dribbled on Charles' mouth, his eyes had snapped open, revealing irises of silvery white.

 _Beard?_ Selene checked her mobile phone, which said 14:43, local Hungary time. She noticed movement in Erika's bed in the small compartment. "What time is it, here?" she asked.

Erika flipped off her covers, rose, and straightened her clothes. "I'll just check and let you know." She poked her head out and Selene heard her ask Eduardo, twice, in Magyar, what time it was. "She looked back at Selene. "9:45, Eduardo says." She tapped on the door jamb and added, "I'm going to check in." She slid the door shut after slipping out.

Selene dropped back onto the pillow and just as she was on the verge of deciding to pay a visit to Michael, the door slid open again and Michael's face appeared. He stepped in and slid the partition shut. "Sleep well?" he asked.

"I had crazy dreams," she said as he crawled under the covers behind her and rested his unshaven chin on her shoulder. "You?"

"I certainly dreamed, but I can't remember what I dreamed."

"Lucky you."

The door opened again. Erika smiled sweetly at them both. "Your helicopter will be here in an hour. I suggest that you freshen up and drink."

"Where is it taking us?"

"To São Paulo. You've been given a suite in Léna's hotel – The Grand Paulista."

"And what about you?" Michael asked.

"Eduardo and I need to stay here until the sun goes down. After that, we should meet and I'll show you around. Of course Léna wants to see you, but considering your history, she understands if you'd rather wait."

 _I'm glad Léna's so considerate,_ Selene thought sarcastically. "Thank you, Erika," she said next.

"Welcome to Brazil," Erika replied breezily and then shut the door again.

  
\--0—  
  
  
In the forward cabin, Selene found a working satellite phone, looked up a number on her own mobile, and dialed. She'd decided to do her own checking in, of a sort. Duncan picked up and seemed happy to hear from her, though sleepy. "Has Dagmara been found?" she asked.

"No. We're going to physically check the safe houses again after the sun goes down."

"Who's coordinating the search?"

"Kou. He has a nose for these sorts of things."

"I'd say I have a better nose right here," she replied while giving Michael a pointed look. Then she had an idea. "I'm going to get into contact with Emánuel to tell him to be on the lookout, as well."

"What do you think is going on?"

"I don't really know, but the minute you find out something noteworthy or you track her down, let me know."

"I'm not supposed to be taking your orders anymore, Selene," he said.

She couldn't tell if he was smiling or not on the other end. She chose to be direct with her old friend. "Well, considering that _I_ found her and brought her back to the castle, I'm kind of responsible and I think that I have a right to know."

"Don't worry, Selene. Oh, and speaking of Kou: he's forming a monarchist militia of some sort over here."

"What do you mean, 'monarchist'?"

"He's made it known that he considers himself loyal to the dead Elders."

"He's mad, Duncan. So did he swear his loyalty to Léna? Is that it?"

"Not in so many words, but I believe so."

"Damn Council," she spat as she closed the connection and retracted the antenna against her thigh.

"Perhaps Dagmara decided she didn't want to be a part of the future," Michael said softly from the next seat over.

She bit off a reply that suggested she'd just been discussing something similar with Erika. She didn't want to go there again. "I don't buy it. Erika's doing great _despite_ the death of Kraven."

Michael raised his eyebrows. "Erika has something to do. Dagmara doesn't have Halldór and doesn't have lycans to kill."

Selene couldn't muster a response, but after the unnerving conversation with Erika and her just concluded dreams, she suddenly wanted to take a plane back to Budapest to try and bring Dagmara home again and beat some sense into Kou.


	12. Resurrection Online

An isolated low-rise office building in District X became the headquarters of the communion of newly-risen immortals.  The unit bustled with activity as others joined them over the weeks and months.  It wasn't unusual for the newcomers to come to them confused - their own last memories consisting of a painful, though no less confusing death as their thoughts had wandered as their brains in their destroyed bodies had gradually been starved of oxygen.

Now they had a new lease and a new purpose.  Janas regarded Géza as a somewhat capable leader.  He and the old man paid sporadic appearances to speechify to their growing number, but mostly they were absent, leaving the group to ruminate amongst themselves in their shelter.  Most activity in their base of operations took place in the warehouse, where they collected their weapons and in his case, fashioned other weapons of war that he'd used once upon a time.  Géza and the old man most often could be found, however, when they were needed, at the same shady chessboard on the coastline of Lake Városliget.

Janas chafed at the delay and the inaction.  In this he faulted Géza and his minions the most.  His fidgeting got the best of him, especially with the resurrected lycans about.

He remembered the day that they first appeared - just a handful, but it was enough.  He and Ophelia had gone quiet in the sudden strangeness of it all.  The internal main door leading to the office area had opened, and the lycans had just loped in with Géza bringing up the rear.  He'd grabbed his vampire's rod reflexively and held it close, not knowing what to do.

The lycans, likewise, had very nearly transformed on them, but they'd kept their control.  Janas, however, had been transported instantly back to the point of his own, desperate death, swinging his sword in great arcs and expending his strength as though it had been the end of the world.

One lycan in particular he'd remembered killing in the great battles of immortals.  The lycan had stood there, astonished, and had appropriately reacted when Janas fixed him with his cold stare and flexed his muscles around the rod.  "I'll kill you again!" he'd roared at the lycan warrior.

"You are warriors!" he'd heard Géza shout in the periphery as he engaged his foe, again.

He'd hammered the lycan until his strength flagged.  The lycan fought with surprising strength and as he'd closed the distance between him and the lycan and they stared down each other with identical silver-white irises, Janas had begun to realize that something else was indeed afoot.

"Get it out!  Get it out!" Géza had announced, as Janas saw, in his peripheral vision, Ophelia look futilely for a weapon and then finally decide to go after the nearest lycan with her bare hands and with the same, eardrum-splitting ecstatic battle shriek-laugh that had turned lycans' bowels to liquid in the days of old.

"You are soldiers of common purpose!  Fight it out!" Géza shouted above the mêlée.  "You are all dead!"

And then, after they'd exhausted and disabled one another and they propped themselves against walls, realization had collectively come to them that they were quite indestructible.

Weeks later after that first meeting with lycans, they were more at ease and they began to mingle freely with them.  Ophelia even began to pet them as though they were a pack of her own dogs that she'd adopted.  He'd become quite angry with her and had challenged her as a lycan.  She'd become friend to the pack and less to him;  she'd been the only company that he'd had.  She'd been a death dealer just like him - that exclusive body that protected the coven and its elders against these very lycans.  Again, he chafed at inaction.  Even though they knew what they must do, Géza was not forthcoming with a timetable.  So used was he to taking orders from more qualified leaders, especially those that he'd grown to trust and had received trust from them in return.

"I didn't think we'd have to fight _this_ war, Ophelia," Janas said as he hefted the vampire's rod. "Our birth has not been as easy as I'd dreamt." He grasped the three-meter long steel rod at the blade-end, and swung. Ophelia took a step back and watched the knob-end miss her nose by centimeters. Her hair fluttered in the breath of air displaced by the rod's passing.

"Which war?" Ophelia breathed. She flexed her knees and kept her eyes on the weapon in preparation for the next strike.

 _A war against doing nothing._   He'd repaired his damaged rod with a welder, but had suspected it wouldn't be the same.  He'd decided to test it on the latest target of his frustrations.  He brought it up and held it in front of him, two handed with knob forward, and lunged at her. The knob lodged in her midsection and she trotted backward with it. He increased speed, endeavoring to pin her against the wall. He gritted his teeth and uttered a growl. At the last moment, she slipped aside, grasped it, and helped him shove it several inches into the concrete.

In the blink of an eye, she pushed the rod away from her laterally, in turn driving the blade end sideways into his shirtless torso. Pain exploded in his side and he staggered. His growl became an involuntary grunt that came out almost as a yelp. _Broken bones and internal injuries..._ Before he could recover, she pulled back and prepared to drive the side of the blade into him a second time.  He planted his left foot and intercepted the end of the oncoming blade in his hands. Then he drove with his foot and pushed. He looked to his left and caught a glimpse of Ophelia pushing just as hard in the opposite direction, smiling through her sweaty grimace. Then, in an instant, the section of the wall that held the knob-end of the rod gave way and the rod flew in a whirling arc, out of their hands and away from them.

After the pieces of the wall landed on the ground and the clanking of the 50 kilo weapon ceased, he approached her. He embraced her in spite of himself.  He pressed her head into his sweaty chest and they shared a laugh. Despite the pain, the sensation of a woman against him reminded him once again of ages past. _But there is no past for us. The future is only for them._

He heard clapping, then, from the balcony of the warehouse. He held his injured, bleeding side and eyed Géza's perch. His heart skipped a beat as he noticed the mortal's company – and not just any company. He lifted his bloody hands ceiling-ward and laughed out loud.  "I've had dreams about you," Janas said to the visitor standing next to Géza.

"Hello Halldór," Dagmara said above him. She immediately slipped through the rungs and landed in his wet, up-stretched arms.

He spun her around. He knitted his eyebrows together in feigned anger and looked over at Ophelia. "So, this is what you were smiling about?"

Ophelia shrugged.

"My name isn't Halldór anymore," Janas said to Dagmara. It actually didn't matter what his name was in her presence.

"How dramatic," Dagmara said with a gleam in her eye.

Janas put her down and glared up at Géza. " _This_ war against the keepers," he groused, gesturing with an accusing finger.

"Janas, you'll be happy to know that our compatriot has completed her mission inside of Castle Víg and has many interesting things to tell us."

"Good," he said after a moment. "More information is better." Dagmara had stolen his anger from him.

"Will you now be patient, now that we will have a more complete picture of our enemy's capabilities?"

"Unless we stop preoccupying ourselves with the keepers, we won't be engaging the real enemy any time soon. And the longer we tarry, the less point there is in what we were put here to do."

"If we mortals can wait, then you certainly can."

"Selene had contact with Emmerich three weeks ago," Dagmara chimed in below him.

"Who the hell is Emmerich?" Janas asked.

"He is the closest thing to a leader of the keepers."  Géza said.

Janas looked back and forth between Géza and Dagmara.  "So what does it mean?"

"It means that Selene knows that there are immortals walking the earth who shouldn't be and has alerted both the coven and the lycans."

"Now do you see?" Janas barked up at Géza. 

"Not to worry – she is now safely off the continent and is of no immediate concern to us. She doesn't know who he is or how to get in touch with him."

 _Fool._ He looked into Dagmara's eyes. "Simply because she is half a world away doesn't mean she is not bothered by our existence. We've known her much longer than you, cleaner."

"Didn't I hear you call her 'Viktor's chambermaid'?"

"Let me update you all on what she's done while we were dead," Dagmara said.

  
\--0--  
  
  
The last time Michael had been aboard a helicopter, he'd been dead. He'd awakened at that time, bewildered, in blinding pain, and had located her scent in battle far below where the metal bird hovered. Of that he'd been pretty clear, but he'd remembered barely anything else about entering the old castle, battling William, and killing him with his own hands. As he'd come to, the sun had arisen in Selene's eyes.

The sun had come up again, now, as they lifted off from Guarulhos, on their way southeast and further into the endless metropolis of São Paulo. They joined the swarm of other helicopters floating in the milky haze over the financial capital. The mortal pilot, seated in front of them, chattered almost constantly on the radio. Other than their brief introduction, he didn't interact much with his passengers. _It's a wonder Paulistas aren't all deaf,_ Michael thought, while the whine of the engine increased in pitch momentarily as the pilot adjusted their altitude.

They'd been told that they would land at Ziodex, and then be transported to The Grand Paulista, Léna's hotel. Their portal-to-portal escort was in stark contrast to the cold shoulder that the Hungarian coven had given them in their last days in residence there. He'd been only too glad to leave at that point, but regretted the abruptness of it. He'd told the hospital administrators and his patients that the research position was an opportunity of a lifetime and offered the potential to engage in his dream of working on cures for diseases. It sounded like a lie coming from him, but it was all too true.

Selene peered out the side as they sped on and the image made him wonder how much reach the coven had in this hemisphere. She straightened. "Captain Miyahara," she said in English, suddenly.

"Yes?" his reply came in their headphones, to Michael's surprise.

"Are you segurança?"

Michael looked a question at her.

"Security," she said to him under her breath.

"Não. I am just a pilot," Miyahara said.

"But the segurança are a part of Overworld, correct?"

"That is right," he said.

"Who's the leader of the segurança?"

"A man named Sabino."

"Mortal?"

"Sim. He has an office in The Grand, if you'd like to make his acquaintance."

"Old habits die hard," Michael said, and watched for her reaction.

"What else am I going to do?" she said to him.

He wasn't sure she'd gotten the joke. "You'll be working for Viktor again, in a way."

She gave him a purposeful stare. "Yes, Michael. After five years I think I can handle it." She adjusted her microphone. "How many in the force are there?"

After a pause, Miyahara said, "I'm not sure, but I think about 50."

 _Wow,_ Michael thought.

"How are the Kolláristas related to the segurança?"

"Not at all," the pilot said, glancing back at her. "They do what they please," he added.

"Even here," Selene muttered to Michael. "Are there any other militias?" she said more loudly.

"None that I know of," Miyahara said. "Just the São Paulo gangs," he added with a glance and a broad grin.

Michael supposed the interrogation was meant to assess the capabilities of a potential enemy.  She thought like that and it didn't seem unreasonable to him for her to do that.  He just wasn't that way, even though he'd been shot at more in the last five years than most mortals in their lifetimes. 

Near noon, they touched down on the roof of a tall, slender office building next to a busy boulevard, many stories below. As the blades spun down, they discarded their headphones, gathered their shoulder bags, and disembarked. Michael doubled back and shook Miyahara's hand. "Good luck," the pilot said and Michael thanked him. After they reached a safe distance from the whirling blades, Miyahara hit the throttle and the black helicopter lifted off once again. The departing craft left them in the care of the busy, droning sounds of the city that competed with the building's noisy rooftop heat exchangers.

Selene made a 360-degree scan of the expanse of the helipad and then proceeded toward a stout door that looked as though it led into the bowels of the building.

 _Where's the welcome wagon?_ Michael thought, and just before he voiced the sentiment, he detected an odor above the murky aroma of São Paulo. "We're not alone up here," he said.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder in the same direction as he – where he suspected the smell emanated from. A figure appeared in the distance and sat down casually on a ledge at the edge of the roof. She looked up at Michael and then turned around just in time for the exit door to open.

A nondescript man in a business suit stepped through the threshold. "Bem vindo a Ziodex," he said by way of greeting. "This way, please." He gestured in the direction of the open door and they proceeded in ahead of him.

"Michael Corvin," Michael said, and held his hand out behind him as they descended the concrete stairwell.

"Colibri," the man said, taking his hand. "I'm the Assistant Building Superintendent. I suspect we are about to become coworkers."

"Who do I report to?"

"I believe the Research and Development Director and he'll be contacting you."

They reached the top floor of the facility and walked a short distance to the elevator. "Where are we going?" Selene asked as Colibri fished around in his pants pocket. The elevator car arrived and Colibri pressed two buttons inside.

He held out a set of keys, which she took, naturally. "This is a company car that is being provided for your use. Inside the car, in the glove box, are keys to your rooms in The Grand. You have Rooms 1533 and 1535, but if they are not to your liking, you may speak to management at the hotel. They know who you are and what you are. Your room keys will also let you enter the parking garage under the hotel." The elevator slowed to a halt. "Take this car to sublevel C and look for the red Fiat. Go one block east on Avenida Paulista and then right on Alameda Joaquim Eugênio de Lima two blocks. The hotel is the first building on the right beyond the junction with Alameda Jaú. Good Day," he said as he got off.

"A Fiat? I hoped they would give us a batmobile." Michael said after the doors closed.

They didn't go directly to the hotel as Colibri might have expected, but instead drove around the immediate area which Michael identified as Jardins from looking at a map he found with the hotel keys. He knew she would want to get her bearings, but at the same time he hoped to settle her down. Her odor not only gave her away, but made her emotional and physical state contagious.

By mid-afternoon, they parked the Fiat in the hotel and navigated their way to their floor. They found their rooms at the end of a short access hallway off the main foyer, through doors positioned adjacent to and oriented at right angles to each other. "Any idea why they gave us two?" he asked as she put the electronic key in 1535, the door on the right.

"More elbow room?" she responded and briefly raised her eyebrows.

"Or maybe the Viktor in her is hoping for a split."

"Then I suggest you behave yourself," she said – with one eyebrow arched this time.

Inside, they found themselves in a short hallway, which opened to the left into a small kitchen. Michael went instinctively to the refrigerator and found it loaded with plastic containers of dark liquid. He held up one. "Provisions." He unscrewed the cap and began sipping.

She nodded and looked around. To the right of the hall was a vanity and restroom. Diagonally to the right and over their right shoulders he could see the ends of two large beds and an entertainment center. After glancing in, he went back beyond the kitchen hallway to a living area. Sun streamed in through a sliding glass door framed by floral drapes. She unlatched the door and slid it open to let the sounds and smells of São Paulo in.

He pushed open a door off the living area which led to a darker, mirror image of the same room. "I think this leads to 1533," he said and walked in. The reflected sunlight coming from the balcony of 1535 plus a small lamp in the corner of the sitting room provided the only light within.

Selene poked her head in. "Designed for a vampire – no windows."

"Might be good for an office," he said, noting a small desk with a PC. He walked still further in. Selene lagged behind and seemed to scrutinize every square centimeter of the walls and furnishings. Her smell told him that she was still very concerned about something and also reminded him that they hadn't showered in well over 30 hours. On the inside of the entry door to 1533, near the kitchen, they found several stacked boxes. He thumped one.

"They gave us mobiles and a satellite," she said in the dark as she walked past the kitchen counter. He noted the telltale LEDs of the chargers.

"Too bad there aren't any guns," he said over his shoulder as he walked past her. He proceeded into the bedroom and looked around. Like the rest of the suite, it looked like a carbon copy of what they saw next door.

"This is exile, remember? And be careful what you say. This room may be bugged," she said from the doorway.

"OK," he whispered sarcastically. Then louder he said, "We've got a car and mobile phones, presumably on Ziodex's nickel. It seems kind of patriarchal to me." He looked at Selene pointedly.

"Yes, it seems a lot like home." She took her jacket off and tossed it on the bed. She returned to the hall and began rooting around in one of the boxes. In the backlight, the shirttail of her blouse hung free, invitingly.

He approached her from behind, slid his hands around her waist and under it at her navel, and then slid them upward and over her ribcage.

"You're not worried about bugs?"

"I know you haven't got any," he whispered.

He thought he heard her smile in the dark. He buried his face into the hair about her neck and reached upward still further to her breastbone to unhook the clasp. He withdrew and she exhaled deeply. In the safety of the dark, she relaxed finally, and he convulsed within her. Entwined, they both lost the battle against sleep.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Half a world away, Janas lay with Dagmara in a similar state as desperately as two would be who had limited time. He thought his dreams of her would cease, now that she'd gained solidity and was now tasteable and touchable. It was if going back to her in the dream, to touch her, pick her up, and carry her out, had somehow made it come true.

Something about the old chess player made him remember his own death room in a dream. Death always happened in rooms because lately hardly anything ever happened in the open. In the dead rooms, the flying bullets became more deadly because they had better chances to recochet and shred their target. In ancient times, he'd wielded his weapons from atop a horse. Since the onset of modern times, however, the open wielding of death had gone out of fashion. They'd gone from adventurers to skulkers and from proud immortals to rats. They'd surrendered to the dominion of mortals and confined themselves to mansions, but still fought the lycans in the shadows.

They would fight no more. Had the fight ended anyway? It seemed so, he'd heard, but it did not matter. He and others would make sure of it – someday.

In a dead room he'd found the old chess player, lifeless. Was he really the silent man who always played with Géza in the park? Janas had once been dead as well. How did he know? The evidence, of course, was right in front of him, as if he looked into a mirror. He'd seen his destroyed self through somebody else's eyes. And then, and then... he saw somebody else – the old chess player – through those same eyes. He'd gone back to the old, dead, chess player and held his lacerated wrist above his mouth. Then the chess player opened his eyes in surprise and Janas now knew that some person... he wiped blood off his beard and therefore he was a man... had somehow brought him, Dagmara, and the old chess player back to life. He now knew that they were united in both rebirth and purpose. It gave him comfort in his dreams and also later when he awoke.

Somehow, somewhere, consciousness had shifted from the man, who dribbled blood on his face, to him at the last, like two great memory strands gathering together. He could only remember just a few memories from the man and he could not ignore the last, most important one. He could not ignore the _command_ and Dagmara could not either as she revealed in a whisper in his ear. Probably Charles could not, either.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Michael awoke at 1730 jet-lag time. He left the bed and padded through the kitchenette to the future study, where the desktop PC monitor sat. He powered it up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he waited. He accessed his e-mail and was surprised to find a note from Adam Lockwood. He acknowledged it with:

Adam,

Thanks for the update. We just found a place to stay and I'll probably be going to work at Ziodex around Monday. Let me know if you find anything else interesting. You know I'm into the crypto stuff!

\-- Michael

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
On Thu, Jun 19, 2008 at 9:20 AM, Adam Lockwood wrote:  
>  
> Michael,  
>  
> For grins I'm sending you this video from our security office. I hope it doesn't clog up your inbox. The woman in the clip has been identified by our nursing staff as somebody who visited with György Kósa before he expired. I can't believe these folks keep coming into our hospitals and just killing people off (I'm just assuming she did, but don't have any proof). You know he walked out, so we'll never know what killed him – he's probably another one of those folks with numbers in their heads. LOL. Look me up next time you're in Budapest.  
>  
> Regs,  
>  
> Adam  
>  
>  
>

Michael watched the video which showed an aerial shot of the busy main lobby of Trauma Hospital in mid-morning. People came and went, alone and in groups. The odd, discharged patient ambled or wheeled through. Doctors that he knew also came and went. Life carried on normally. A second clip followed immediately after the first. As it began, he realized that Lockwood hadn't told him exactly which female he should be looking for.

Michael watched the videos again, and this time identified the woman that Lockwood probably referred to. She had brown hair, blue or hazel eyes, and dressed fashionably. She carried a purse and had hoop earrings. Nothing unusual stood out.

Selene came into the room and stood behind him with her hands on his shoulders. The smell of her washed over him. "What have you got?" she said low in her sleepy throat.

"Dr. Lockwood sent me a video that I think you should look at."

"What is it?"

"It has to do with György Kósa's disappearance. Recognize anybody in this clip?"

"This is Saint John's? It doesn't look like it."

He turned his head to look up at her. "It's Trauma."

"Oh, he was transferred then? It's no wonder Haruye couldn't find him," she said, shaking her head.

"Actually I had him transferred."

" _What?_ When were you going to tell me?" She stood back and looked down at him in astonishment.

"I didn't want the coven to kill him. I knew the coven would try to kill him and I was right."

"And you couldn't tell me?"

He turned back around and pointed at the screen. "It's a moot point. Somebody else made him disappear. Dr. Lockwood said somebody visited him, apparently killed him, and then he walked out of the morgue."

Selene looked disapprovingly at him for several more moments, and then focused again on the monitor. "Play it," she said behind crossed arms.

He clicked and they watched together as humanity flowed underneath the security camera. Ten seconds later, her odor changed sharply. She came closer again. "Wait. Replay it." As he clicked the play button again, she moved in for a closer look. "Again."

"Somebody you recognize?"

She didn't answer. He turned back to look at her and saw that her eyes and mouth had turned downward. She looked up again at the monitor and then stood erect. "It's Ophelia."

"Who?"

"A death dealer."

"It's 1015 according to this tape."

She was silent for several moments. "A dead death dealer... and she can walk in daylight, apparently."

"So what did she do in the hospital – turn Kósa?"

"It's certainly a possibility," she snapped, and then shook her head.

Michael took a deep breath. "There's more."

"More?"

"There's a shot of her leaving, if you want to see."

"Yes, play it," she sighed.  After a few moments into it, she said, "Yes, that's her, all right. I know that walk."

Michael looked back at her. "When did she die?"

"She died in battle a century ago. I wonder what the hell she's up to."

"Do you think she's like you?"

"A hybrid? It's quite possible," she said.

"She seems to have acclimated well. She probably has a mobile phone and everything."

"Yes, and modern weapons. She's 346 years old, Michael, but we learn to acclimate. She's Ádám Tóni's half-sister, by the way."

"Is she anything like him?"

"As a fighter, she is. Lord Tóni would be interested to hear that his sister is alive and is also a daywalker."

"What do you think she did to Kósa?"

Selene didn't answer, but went to the kitchenette. She quickly returned and dialed a number on the satellite phone.

"Who are you calling?" Michael asked.

"Duncan. I've got a question for him."

"Don't you think you should go through channels? You're in enough trouble and you don't want to wear out your welcome."

She looked up at him with eyes that said, "Don't bother me with details," as the call went through. "Duncan. Yes, hello. We're fine... listen, quickly, I have a question about Dagmara. Right, we know that – didn't expect that to change or else somebody would've called me, right? Anyway, did she take her mobile? All right. Has anybody tried to track it down in case she's made recent calls? Some of the general issue phones might even have GPS transponders on them. Good. Let me know if you turn up something... and also if you need anything hacked or you can contact Laudro directly."

Michael heard a rhythmic thrumming somewhere outside as Selene finished up her conversation. He also heard something that he'd not heard much of since they'd first turned the key in their room door: activity in the hotel. At this time of night, the immortals that lived in the hotel probably had woken up. He went to the shipping boxes and found his binoculars after about 30 seconds of searching. He took them to the balcony and looked down at the busy street below. Selene joined him. "What street is this?"

"I think it's Alameda Jaú if I have my bearings right."

"That's what I thought. If so, then Ziodex is that way, about 11 o'clock." He pointed north just in time to see a helicopter descend in that general area. "Can you see that chopper from here?"

"It's at the edge of my range." She stood still as a rock and focused. "Looks like one of ours – black with a blue 'O' on it. We've got some buildings in between."

"So are they going to try and track Dagmara?" he asked.

She turned toward him, folded her arms, and leaned against the balcony railing. "It turns out they've already thought of that. The coven surprises me sometimes, but they've lost another day just figuring it out. Safe houses didn't check out, though. They're going to send a team next nightfall to find out if the mobile is still attached to her."

"Without their best cacher? Who's leading it?"

"I don't know," she said, and then gazed down into the rush hour traffic. He knew she'd much rather be back in Budapest, hunting.


	13. The Skin of Fear

While Selene paced about the suite in her bedclothes and argued with Florian about Ophelia, Michael took advantage of the shower. He intended to do something tonight and tomorrow, but he wasn't sure exactly what. He was certain that he didn't want to idle while Selene tried to figure out why a death dealer suddenly turned up not dead, what Dagmara's disappearance meant, and why two groups of mortals saw fit to take up arms against one another. All of the not knowing drove Selene up a wall. She insisted on staying connected with the Europeans despite her exile.

 _Fine. You can attack this problem while I see about my research,_ he thought as he shampooed his hair. He resolved to distract her with unpacking, then have yet another nap before Friday daybreak, and then track down his supervisor at Ziodex. Perhaps he would give a good impression by showing up a day early. He would walk and she could have the Fiat.

Through the rushing water, he heard a much louder ringing, and concluded it must be the landline. "Jesus Christ," he muttered. Then he made a mental note to contact his family to at least let them know he was in the same hemisphere as they and that he was fine.

After toweling off and putting on presentable clothes, he found Selene standing on the balcony, still in her bedclothes, looking out at the darkening skyline. She turned toward him as he reached her. "Anything new?"

She prefaced her reply with a heavy sigh. "Florian is going to notify Ádám and Adél that Ophelia is apparently roaming around. I forwarded your e-mail to me and then to him – I hope you don't mind."

"No," he said softly.

"Erika also rang and passed along that Léna would like us to be her guests for a meal in about two hours."

"I guess everybody's up and about, now."

"She works hard, apparently – from 2100 to 900 every day, sometimes on weekends."

"What a life for an immortal."

"She's playing catch-up. Most of the nobles came by their money centuries ago."

"She didn't inherit anything from Amelia?"

"What Amelia possessed, physically, actually belonged to the coven. If she did inherit anything, she probably plowed it right into the business. What we're standing on, the planes, the segurança... it all belongs to her, separate from the coven."

"But she has those memories and she can't get away from that."

"Well, she can, mostly, so long as there aren't reminders."

"Like you?"

Selene blew out a breath for a laugh. "Whatever she remembers, I guess all that matters is that her business hasn't suffered in the last five years."

Michael made a _pfft_ sound and pointed inside. "Time for you to primp," he said. _...For Viktor_ , he almost added, but he bit it off at the last moment.

  
\--0--  
  
  
 _Put on something elegant,_ Kraven had said to her five years ago at Amelia's approach, before the apocalypse. This time it was Michael who'd requested that she dress appropriately. "She's our host and we are her guests," he'd said. He did have a point. She had evidence to suggest that Léna and Amelia's old allies had pulled strings to get them there. Léna's world was independent enough from the coven that she could probably get away with it.

The elevator doors opened on the penthouse floor to reveal twin receptionist's desks behind a bank of tinted glass doors with a sky-blue 'O' on one glass panel. Double, wooden doors between the desks were propped open to reveal closed, inner doors. "That looks like a light lock," Selene commented.

As they entered, Michael became distracted by artwork on the walls and the décor while she checked in with one of the receptionists. She picked the male on the left at random. He addressed her in an unfamiliar tongue, which she took to be Portuguese.

"Do you speak English?" she responded.

"I'm sorry. May I help you?" he asked again.

Selene realized in that moment that he was most likely a segurança. "We have an appointment with Léna," she said.

The female receptionist on the other side of the double doors commented briefly to the man in Portuguese and then began chattering into a microphone on her headpiece. Then she broke into English and addressed Selene. "She'll be with you shortly."

Selene nodded and drifted over to where Michael closely examined a portrait. "That's Amelia," she said to him.

"I'd actually never seen her before. Would I have had to fight her?" he asked.

"That's a good question," she said absently. She glanced at the other walls and found no portraits of Marcus or Viktor. That butcher's memory was like a stain on Léna that no amount of charm or elegance could wash out. Though faded and ancient, it was still certainly there. _What was Kou thinking?_ Once upon a time she'd contemplated killing Léna to eliminate the memory, but she couldn't bring herself to cross the line of killing somebody for something they weren't directly responsible for. Her eyes fell on Michael and lingered there as he walked over. "She and I crossed paths but we never had a real conversation. No doubt she knew who I was, though."

"From Viktor's memories?"

"Yup," she said with some deliberation.

The opaque doors opened, and a young girl bounded in, then paused and looked at Michael and Selene. She had familiar hazel eyes. Black berets held long brown hair in place. "Olá," she said cheerfully, and then sprinted through the double wooden doors and out of sight. Behind her strode a tall woman who also glanced in their direction. Recognition came to Selene and Michael at almost the same time – Claire. "Hello and good to see you," she said in accented English. She glanced after her charge and then approached the visitors. Claire was much paler than Selene remembered.

"I knew you came here, but I didn't expect to see you _here_ ," Selene said.

"The choice was easy. As was this," Claire said, and then pushed up slightly on her upper lip, revealing a canine.

"She turned you?" Selene asked.

Claire simply nodded and looked down as the little girl suddenly collided with the backs of Claire's legs.

"Is this Máli?" Selene asked, and squatted down to have a closer look.

"Yes it is," said Claire.

Before they could say anything further, a figure appeared behind the receptionists' desks:  the interposing generation between the portrait on the wall and the child below.  Selene's attention went to Léna in an instant and she slowly rose to standing.

Léna softly commanded something to Máli in Portuguese and the child complied, with Léna keeping her eyes on Selene all the while.

"Nice to see you again," Claire said again to Selene and hurried past Léna into the inner sanctum. She didn't look as chipper as when they'd first seen each other just a minute ago. She suspected that she might be anxious about what might transpire in her meeting with Léna.

"Welcome to Brazil, Selene and Michael.  Please come in," she said formally.

They both walked in and proceeded through the light lock, with Léna bringing up the rear. Once through the second set of doors, they entered a short, glass-lined corridor. To the right was a large work room consisting of several desks and a depressed wing farther to the right. Four living souls, faces blanched by computer monitor glow, sat at desks. At one of the desks, Erika looked up and nodded as she talked to somebody on her microphone. To the left, behind another glass door, was a conference area.

Léna crossed in front of them and indicated the office to the right. "This is mission control for the transportation operations. Event planning and hospitality is downstairs. This used to be my apartment, but all this eventually took over."

"Where is your apartment, now?" asked Michael.

She pointed to a short corridor leading off to the left, beside the conference room. "It's down that hall and up a flight of steps. Xavier and I added on to the existing living space." Léna led them into the conference room and they sat down at a meeting table cut from a large, irregular piece of wood. A page entered, filled carved, jade goblets from a pitcher, and set them in front of the three of them.

Selene noted that the page didn't make any kind of eye contact, so she surmised that she was unaware that Léna's guests had any renown. She fingered her goblet and said, "Where are these from?"

"An appreciative guest gave them to me."

"I'd like to thank you for your hospitality," Michael said.

Léna tore her stare away from Selene and looked over at Michael. "You're quite welcome. On this side of the Atlantic, at least, we see the value in your research."

"I hope that it yields something valuable to humanity," Michael said, emphasizing his altruistic, and very human, motives in contrast to Léna's purely financial.

She gazed pleasantly back at Selene. "Let me know if you need anything or if your accommodations are lacking in any way. You're welcome to stay as long as you need."

"For all I know, it might be permanent – unless Council has a change of heart," Selene said.

Léna nodded and then looked at Michael pointedly. "Why don't you, Michael, become acquainted with your research staff? They are doubtless eager to carry out whatever you assign to them."

Michael got the hint, but didn't seem perturbed by it. He stood, touched Selene on her shoulder and said, "I'll meet you back here later." More loudly, he said, "Thank you for the drink, Lady Léna."

Léna stood on her side of the table and took his hand. "Just Léna, if you please. It's good to see you again." Then her eyes came back to Selene, dismissing Michael from her sight and her mind in the process.

After the door closed behind Michael, Selene noticed that Léna's serene mask fractured ever so slightly. The confident set of her features had relaxed and her once-steady eyes now regarded Selene warily as she sat back down. This was the Léna more familiar to Selene and she likely didn't realize that she telegraphed her discomfort. A mortal wouldn't have noticed, but nuance became glaringly obvious to a 600-year old immortal. Her dormant memories had likely awakened and their roiling had made her mentally, and therefore physically, unsteady.

Léna's cheeks had sunken in the last sixteen months, as if the memory of Lord Viktor had begun to transform her physically. What hadn't changed was her incompletely concealed fear while in Selene's presence. Though her mind harbored the three elders, and perhaps her body had the physical presence and charisma, her physical strength was only slightly better than the page that had poured their drinks. "He's an employee of Ziodex, now," Léna said, glancing at the door.

Her comment didn't absolve her, but Selene didn't consider it worth the effort to debate her on it. She came to the point. "Have you heard about the activities of the cleaners?"

"Or the groups of cleaners? Yes, Lord Dömötör keeps me apprised. He is my eyes and ears."

Selene considered Dömötör, the sole surviving regent of the Elders. "He does what you say?"

Léna paused for a moment, sat back, and rested her arms on the chair's rests. "Not always. He was a confidant of my mother and not cut from the same cloth as Lord Kraven and Lord Víg."

"What do you know about a lycan named Charles?"

Léna sat forward again, turned her head two degrees to her right, but kept her gaze steady. "What part of your memory is responsible for this taxing interrogation?" she said tersely. "I'd rather talk about an opportunity that will put your skills to good use. Training my segurança, perhaps?"

Her comment aroused Selene's interest, as well as concern, but she forged ahead. The concept of a further reuniting with the past gave her pause. She closed her eyes for a moment and put her hands flat on the table. "Please try to understand. I'm trying to find out what I can about him in case he becomes a threat."

Léna sat back again and looked as if she'd put something sour into her mouth. "Charles is a pack leader on the plain, up to the southeastern outskirts of Pest."

"Was."

"Is he no more?"

"I killed him last century."

"Well done, then? Is that what you want me to say?"

 _Patriarchal and patronizing._ "No and it would mean nothing," Selene said, nearly cutting her off. "Is there anything else you can tell me about him?"

"Pack leader and that is all that I know. And as was the case with Lucian, I permitted him to live," Léna said, with evident pride.  She had let more control slip.  Perhaps it was deliberate.  Then she rose and stood behind her chair, still regarding Selene. "You certainly have an obsession with dead lycans."

Selene deliberated on what to say next. It couldn't hurt and perhaps it would loosen Léna's tongue as it concerned Charles. "I had a dream that I gave him my blood and he reawakened. At least I thought it was him."

Léna looked at her askance in thought. "Any distinguishing features?"

"He looked like an old mortal."

"It was probably him. He also had a penchant for games," Léna added, raising an eyebrow. "Passing the time while in the dungeon."

 _Chessmen._ "In the dream I was somebody else, perhaps a man."

Léna's eyebrow lifted again. "Intriguing. It's so easy to slip into another's skin - and you don't even realize it. Not only did I inherit the Elders' memories, but I dream their dreams, as well. I even dream of you, Selene, though I'd never met you before five years ago."

But Selene had evidence, right in front of her, of what such skin-slipping could do. Was she Léna with the Elders' memory or the Elders in Léna's skin? "This isn't about you, Léna," she said.

"It's always about me when we meet, Selene. We have memory and dreams, no matter how we strive to deny them."

Selene ran her hands over her hair and rested them at the back of her neck. "That doesn't sound like you."

"Memory is all that Viktor is, now." She then strolled around to a position behind Selene's chair. "Do you dream of your family?"

Selene's blood pressure abruptly increased, but she refused the bait. She wouldn't reveal that she thought she'd dreamed of being rescued by Viktor. "I don't dream about my family. I just remember and that's sufficient."

Léna's own hackles got up and she pushed away from Selene's chair. The circled around to the other side of the conference table and faced Selene as she spoke.  "You drank the blood of Alexander Corvinus as you said. Perhaps you should consult what you drank with it and that would tell you more about your dream."

She wanted to find out, but considering whose blood she'd drunk, she also dreaded the answer. She looked up to find that the Elders had left Léna's face and only the skin of fear remained.

The glass door clinked open and Máli ran to her mother, chattering in Portuguese. Claire arrived on her heels. "Sorry," she said and had a brief exchange with Léna in Magyar, this time. She and Máli exited the room, leaving Selene and Léna alone again. Léna grinned proudly at Selene, mainly with her eyes and without a showy display of canines.  Selene could only think about her nieces – 600 years dead, but still she mourned them in her perfect, timeless memory.

"Will you train your daughter to become a warrior?"

"You can do better, Selene."

"It's a fair question."

"Agreed. I am, as you know, my mother's daughter. I'll raise my own as I would have preferred my mother raise me. In my world, there are choices."

"And responsibilities, Léna." _No more Selenes._

"With which I fully agree. Have you noticed that we've drunk each other's blood since we first met?"

"I thought that was the Elders' influence on you."

"And you have none?"

"Not like yours."

"Oh, they all do speak to me now and again, Selene. Viktor loves you, and therefore part of me does also. He'll also never admit, in his arrogance, that he ever did anything wrong... and therefore part of me is the same way. My mother had a progressive vision, and therefore part of me is the same way. If I raise my daughter in such a way as to right past wrongs, will that satisfy you?"

Throughout the conversation, her ever-situation assessing mind had daydreamed about how she might find an excuse for terminating Lena and leaving her daughter to be raised by a better example.  Selene strove to quell these malicious thoughts. "I fear for your child," she said softly.

"Do you have any other questions, Selene?"

Just in case... "What do the Kolláristas do here and how many are there?"

"You've met them all.  They protect the family of Amelia... and her memory."  She paused for a beat and glanced toward the ceiling.  "They're not far away.  Xavier is one, if you'll recall.  So what will be your duty station, Selene?"

"Michael."

"I'm glad that you're there for him."

"Really?" Selene said in disbelief.

"Yes, _really_. Michael is an investment. I fully expect his work to produce something of value."

"What's your relationship to Ziodex?"

"I sit on the board of directors. And Overworld provides security via contract."

"So you wield some influence."

"I play to my strengths, Selene, as I always have. I benefit from the good will that mortals and immortals bore toward my mother."

Selene felt none such. Among Léna's strengths was denial, apparently.

"Consider the opportunity I spoke of earlier. If the segurança are more able, then it benefits all of us, and then Michael won't need so much mothering from you."

  
\--0--  
  
  
Michael reflected on the girl's fucked up pedigree as he walked up Alameda Joaquim Eugênio de Lima. She was a daughter of Léna, granddaughter of Amelia, and possibly had the potential, along with Léna, to possess the memories of Viktor and Marcus to boot. Máli's father was Lord Víg; Víg had swapped blood and memories with Lord Kraven. Her grandfather was Halldór, a menacing death dealer that Selene had despised.

As he reached Avenida Paulista, his spirits lifted slightly at the crowds and the bustle. For a moment, he was back with people with ordinary lives, ordinary problems, flaws, and illnesses. He knew he could do something, eventually. He patted the contents of his inside jacket pocket as he walked, carried by the wave of humanity. At 2230, the Ziodex tower loomed high and dark as a bulwark in the ocean. After a moment's consideration, he decided to try to get in. Léna had, after all, invited him to visit the facility and so maybe he'd been put on a guest list or already been made an employee.

He went in the front entrance and proceeded across the dimly lit plaza to the security station staffed by a mortal male. "Um... Good Evening. Do you speak English?"

"Yes, sir," the guard said.

"My name is Dr. Michael Corvin and I'm an employee here..."

"Do you have a badge, sir?" the man asked.

"No. I believe I was just made an employee in the past 24 hours. Is there a way that you can check?"

"How do you spell it?"

Michael told him.

The guard looked at him strangely and minimized whatever he was viewing on his PC. After a few moments of key tapping, he looked back up at Michael. "I do have a record, but you can't get in without a badge. I'm sorry, but somebody will have to escort you in." He made a move to pick up the telephone near him.

"Who are you calling?"

"One of your coworkers. He's right upstairs – shouldn't be a problem for him to come down."

"Thank you," Michael said, and wandered off to look at a large display, which featured illustrations of pharmaceuticals and other products that the company had engineered.

After a few minutes, a short man with a square head and a dark shadow of an unshaven beard entered the lobby. "Dr. Corvin," he announced. "I'm Dr. Augustino Mallandro. You'll be working in my department."

"What department is that?"

"Vaccine Research and Development."

 _That's appropriate,_ Michael thought.  "Look, I've got something that I wondered if you could start working on."

"I'll need to clear it with the head of the department."

"Yeah, sure." Michael pulled Dagmara's syringe from his jacket pocket and handed it to Mallandro.

"Can this wait until tomorrow or Monday?"

"Well, I've come this far," Michael said, bluffing. He indicated the syringe.  "I'd rather have that in some secure hands rather than stored in my jacket, you know?"

"What do you want me to do with it?"

"Can you figure out what's in there and synthesize it? There might not be a whole lot left, but it's worth a look."

"What's it do?"

"It's an inhibitor of some sort. It shuts down bodily processes in immortals and induces a state of hibernation."

"Nothing to do with a vaccine, huh?" said Mallandro.

"No, probably not."

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks," Michael said and turned to leave.

"Why don't you come by tomorrow, and we'll show you the laboratory in daylight."

"Thanks – tomorrow or Monday," Michael said.


	14. Selene Goes to Hell

**_Two Weeks Later_ **

Selene had many opportunities to daydream while executing her current task: digitizing the notebooks and loose papers of one Salamon Singe. It was one of the least menial of the menial tasks, both official and unofficial, that the coven presented for her to choose from. When the coven required exile, it meant exile. By day, she trained segurança to fight as well as their mortal bodies would allow them; by night, she acted as a research assistant for Michael.

The irony of her position wasn't at all lost on her. While she toiled in a diminished capacity, Erika served as an assistant to a powerful vampire. Once upon a time, their roles had been reversed as she'd overseen security within Castle Víg while Erika had cowered in Lord Gellért's basement waiting for the sun to set on her life.

She satisfied herself that what she did was useful, both to the coven (indirectly) and to Michael's goals. As she painstakingly scanned each new document in the windowless office space of Room 1533 of Léna's hotel, she couldn't help but wonder where her life was going and whether Michael could be in it. She'd settled life and death struggles once upon a time. Sometimes she needed to convince herself, once again, that her efforts would impact the world and yield a greater good than mass slayings of immortals. This was her fate: the important became the pointless and the pointless now became important.

By now she'd scanned approximately, by her estimation, 200 separate pieces of paper and journal pages. She'd just last night finished scanning Singe's main research journal and had moved on to a stack of paper at the bottom of the briefcase. It appeared to be a collection of correspondence and not necessarily something that might interest Michael. Here was a thank you letter from another researcher for test data that Singe had provided. And here was a packing slip from an equipment supply company, with some handwritten notes by Singe. And here was a cover letter from another researcher regarding a journal article that Singe had requested, but according to his margin notes, had found ultimately not to be of use. And here was a letter from... and then Selene stopped cold. She read the sender's name at the top of the letterhead a second time and then a third: _Macaro Enterprises._ As her brain worked, she picked up the correspondence and maneuvered it onto the proper spot on the scanner bed. She clicked the mouse button and then watched the image appear on her screen. She thought about company holdings and ship registrations. _Of course – you can't float a thing like that and not have it registered – not even in Central Europe. No wonder Singe knew so much._ Then she read the flowing script of the letter, in German, and internally translated:

Dear Dr. Singe:

It has come to my attention that you have not been entirely truthful with me with regard to your research. I was of the impression that your understanding of my family (and my progeny) would lead to a mutually beneficial collaborative relationship. While I understand your situation and your history, I must object to the direction that you intend to take your research. As it directly pertains to my family, I cannot help but feel responsible for any negative consequences resulting from your efforts. This is a responsibility that I take with the utmost seriousness and I would caution you, for all our sakes, against pursuing any further research, development, and testing on live subjects or otherwise.

Yours Sincerely,

Lorenz C. Macaro

 _Perhaps he did try to stop it,_ Selene thought. She picked up the desk phone and dialed Michael's number in the laboratory. "Michael, I've found something in Singe's papers that you should probably see."

"Right now?" he said, with mild irritation in his voice.

"Not necessarily, but whenever you can. I'll e-mail you the PDF and I'll put a translation in the note."

"Is it in German?"

"Yes," she said. "It's a note from your ancestor to Singe."

"OK – send it and I'll take a look."

"I might try and turn over some rocks to see where this leads. Perhaps we'll get a better handle on what the cleaner groups are up to."

"Don't get another bullet in your head, Selene."

She grinned into the phone. "I'm kind of hamstrung as it is. How is the project going?"

Michael sighed on the line. "It's slow going, but we've managed to produce a small batch of the serum that we found in Dagmara's line.  Need to test it, though."

"Don't let me keep you," she said. They said their goodbyes and hung up.

  
\--0--  
  
  
The laboratory scientists had left for the day. They, like he, could come and go as they pleased. He pressed on, however, through the night, right up until the time he needed to stop or else compromise his effectiveness. There was only so much he could do on his own and only so much the electronic microscope could yield in a given night.

Selene's news was compelling, or else she wouldn't have seen fit to bring it to his attention. But he would look at the message later.

The air subtly changed. "Boa noite," he said, not looking up from the monitor.

"Hello, Michael," Erika answered back, pleasantly.

He turned around, briefly, to acknowledge her. She leaned against the edge of a benchtop, in a white dress skirt and jacket that flattered all of her curves. He nodded to her, took a deep breath, and went back to the object of his attention. "What can I do for you?"

"Léna sent me to see how you're doing."

"Of course."

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"She's concerned."

"She has a funny way of showing it."

"That's why I'm here and she's not."

"What is your role in all this, Erika?"  He couldn't shake the specter of her ceiling-clinging hissy fit.

"I want the things she wants."

"And that means?"

"It means we're all on the same side, Michael. It's why we're here."

She did seem sympathetic. Michael turned around to face her and then noticed behind her, in the darkened doorway, Selene's silhouette.

Erika looked over her shoulder in the same direction and then faced Michael again. "She knows your work is important. Don't forget that."

Selene approached and took up a position, with arms folded, on the bench near Erika. Selene's dark threads stood out in contrast to Erika's wardrobe. Michael folded his own arms. He sometimes preferred that Selene not be there – he didn't always need protecting.

"It's time to go," Selene said to Erika, facing Michael and then looking sideways at Erika.

Erika looked back at Michael one last time, and then sashayed out.

Michael turned back around and looked into his monitor.

"I think she's down here because you're hot," Selene said.

He got that immediately, but couldn't help but smile as his resentments melted away. He could imagine the expression on her face. "I was going to say that she is, too, but that would've been a bad joke."

Her tone of voice told him that she agreed. "She's been through a lot. She's a survivor."

"Anything new in the coven?" He listened for her response while keeping his attention on the moving image on the screen in front of him.

Selene took in an audible breath. "The Council is still rather upset that you are now an employee of Ziodex, but they still don't know what to do with you. They blame Lord Dömötör for sticking his neck out for you, but the truth of the matter is that he had nothing to do with it. He defends you anyway because Léna wants it."

"Wow," Michael said, almost in a whisper. "I didn't know he was so involved."

Her voice changed pitch as she turned her head, this way and that, while pacing around the room. "He's by the book, but has always been one of your defenders, or at least a defender of level-headedness. The Europeans can complain all they want, but the reality is the Brazilians have a controlling interest in Ziodex and if Ziodex wants you on their payroll, they can damn well put you on it. The Brazilian vampires hold Léna in pretty high regard, too, and she gets a certain amount of deference."

"Because of the Elder memories..."

"Amelia, specifically, but you are mostly correct."

"I would think that would be a disadvantage."

"Hereabouts vampires _adored_ Amelia and when they look at Léna, they see her."

"So that proves the rule."

"Which is?"

"Nobody's ever really dead."

"Right... Anyway, bottom line is Léna wants to support your research and what Léna wants, she also gets."

"That's a far cry from what we saw a year ago."

"This is her domain and Dömötör is a bit of a protector for obvious, nostalgic reasons."

"I see..."

"I'm not sure you do. Like it or not, this is her world that we're in. It's in our best interest to get along with her."

Michael noted her transference with a raised eyebrow and then turned around to face her. "How about you? It's not like you have many options left."

She returned his look. "I plan to avoid her, of course, as much as I can. I want Viktor to stay dead."

"So do I." He didn't like seeing Selene agitated in Léna's presence, but he knew an immortal couldn't let go of things very easily. He changed the subject. "So what's your impression of Alexander's note?" He figured she didn't come all the way down to just talk about the coven.

"It looks like he was double-crossed by Lucian," she said.

"Considering what he was up against, I can't say that I blame the good Doctor. I think Alexander might have, at one time at least, appreciated that he was trying to do something helpful."

"I used to think Alexander didn't give a damn about ending the war, but now I'm not so sure... but Kraven and Lucian were like two peas in a pod."

"Well, we'll never know for certain, will we?" This was all water under the bridge, as far as he was concerned. He tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Her eyes focused on him once again. "How are you going to test the serum?"

"I haven't thought about that, yet. I just wanted to see if it could be replicated.  Now it's done and we're making more of it."

"You could try it on me."

Even though she was matter-of-fact, it took a moment before he realized that she wasn't joking. "No," he said flatly.

"I want to revisit memories that might tell us what the cleaners are up to... and why Ophelia is a daywalker. I want to know for certain."

"In a dream?" he said in disbelief.  Then he shook his head.  "No." Surely her own logic would prevail in this argument, she must have thought. _Not so fast._

"Well, then maybe I'll do it myself," she said emphatically.

"You don't know what this will do," he said.

"I think my body can handle it, Michael."

"I'm a doctor, Selene."

"You're also an immortal. You're not necessarily governed by mortal rules."

"I choose to be. I'm not like Singe. I cannot inject you any more than I could inject myself. This goes beyond the Hippocratic Oath." It was the only argument he could make. He performed tests on mortal tissue using immortal cells in a country with lax enforcement of human experimentation rules. Except... Selene wasn't human.

"I appreciate your concern," she said softly after a moment. "But I'm a death dealer and I'm used to facing it down. We don't shrink from it, but push forward."

"Isn't there another way to find out? How about if you run down this lead you mentioned?"

"It's already being run down, Michael."

"Can we at least delay so I can think about it?"

  
\--0--  
  
  
She hated to argue with Michael, but he simply was wrong in this. At the end of the night, he'd relented. "I feel like Dr. Kevorkian," he'd said as he prepared the injector for her. She would pull the trigger and seal her own fate.

He'd brought what he needed to their room and together they'd prepared the bed – the darkened one that they never used in 1535 – for her to lay in while she went to sleep and the serum worked on her body. Michael participated wordlessly mostly, but with jaw set. She crawled into the bed, lay on her back, and rolled up her sleeve as Michael worked mechanically to load the cartridge into the injector. He laid it on a tray on the nightstand while he turned on the portable monitor. He snaked sensor pads under her shirt and managed a slight smile as he lingered there.  She felt a tingle in her loins and a rush of blood to her head in reaction to his touch.  He moved next to attach a blood oxygen sensor to her index finger.

"You're going all out, aren't you?" she said, finding his eyes.

"I'm not going to pass up an opportunity to collect data," he said.

"I'm your subject once again."

"Hopefully not for the last time. Hold it here," he said, picking up the injector. Then he looked into her eyes. "Press this," he added.

She glanced over at his hand as it cradled the metal contraption resting coldly against her arm.

"Wait a minute," he said, and crawled into bed with her, on the side of her opposite to the injector. He pressed his body against hers and placed his hand against her abdomen.

"I think I'm ready," she said.

"I'm not," he replied softly into her ear.

She turned her head to him and kissed him on the mouth, drawing his tongue to her. "See you later," she said, and pressed the trigger. A prick of pain lanced into her upper arm, and then decreased to a continuous point of pressure where the drug had entered her body.

"Later," he mumbled and then propped his head on his upright arm to watch her.

Coldness began in her extremities and worked its way toward her trunk. Her body felt heavy and her muscles seemed unwilling to respond without extra effort.

"How do you feel?" Michael asked.

She turned her head slightly and moved her eyes the rest of the way. "Like I'm turning into a block of ice," she said. Her jaw wouldn't move properly and she heard her speech slur.

Michael leaned closer and put his hand aside her right cheek.

She suddenly felt difficulty in breathing. Michael must have noticed it too as his expression became pained. Her eyes lost the ability to focus and the only thing she could see was his hair hanging down and around his face. Her vision then went to snow and her hearing went to a squeal of feedback. Her breathing stopped and she imagined everything else did, too. The touch of Michael's hand on her cheek went away. And then she remembered the snowy static of her mind just before Viktor carried her back out of the dungeon where she'd evidently died, according to Erika.

And then, curiously, her vision began to clear and warmth gradually returned to her, beginning at her chest and radiating outward. She wiggled her fingers and toes as she became able to move them again. She felt the sheets on the bed and then abruptly heard herself draw in a breath. _I survived,_ she thought. Her mood lifted and she painstakingly turned her head to the left to see Michael. As he came into view, she realized with a start that it wasn't the face of Michael staring back at her, but Singe.

She drew in a sharp breath and stared at the apparition lying in bed next to her.

He only stared back at her through his useless glasses.

She forced in another breath and made to roll over to the right side of the bed. "What are you doing here?" she asked with a voice that sounded alien to her. She knew she was in her own body – all of her pieces were in their proper places. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, putting Singe behind her. She put her feet down and made an effort to stand, but the floor did not rise up to meet her feet. For some reason, though, she hopped down anyway, thinking that the floor would be just below her feet, but instead she plunged... and after too long a weightless interval, finally landed hard in a place that she recognized after a few moments as an abattoir where lycans had met their demise.

And Selene landed back into the person she'd been almost a century ago – less doubtful, more sure, more duty-bound. In her right hand she held her sword and immediately remembered how she'd held it then. In her left, she clutched a revolver. To her left stood Stanislaus, who she'd deprived of an arm just a year earlier with Zsanett's sword. He wouldn't have been standing there had she not acted faster than the poison in his vein. He'd insisted on coming on these missions and she wouldn't deprive a fellow soldier of the opportunity for combat. The truth of the matter was that he'd likely die well before the rest of them and it made him fiercer.

They stood at a junction of two underground passages below Buda – in the midst of a sweep. This time around, the lycans had stood their ground and had taken at least one vampire life. Then the pursuit had begun – an exhilarating sprint through dirty, cramped corridors that beings rarely visited. _Death dealer... one who feels most alive when nearest death._

A glow increased behind them and two dogs galloped past them – two of Ophelia's, unleashed. Moments later, Ophelia and Szilard arrived with two more on leashes. Her two prized presci canarios snarled and strained against their restraints. "Come on!" she shrieked as she hung a lantern on the wall amidst them. She plunged into the right fork of the tunnel in pursuit of her dogs, who picked up the scent of spilled blood, no doubt. Selene, Szilard, and Stanislaus gave chase.

After a minute at a dead run, the smell led them to a side corridor which led to a metal door. The dogs excitedly pointed further down the corridor that they'd just diverted from.

"Stan!" Ophelia barked and turned back to see where the dogs wanted to go. Stanislaus departed with her to investigate a pitch-black corridor, leaving Szilard and one lantern with Selene.

Szilard put it down while she turned her attention to breaching the door, which yielded only after ripping loose from the masonry that anchored it. They'd scarcely put the door aside when a lycan growled and lunged from the interior and bowled over the both of them. The animal endeavored to pin Szilard against the far wall, but not before he fired from his handgun, hitting the lycan in its midsection. It staggered, which gave Selene time enough to run it through on its left side. It went wild in pain and rage and twisted away, yanking the sword from her hand. As it mindlessly writhed and growled, both Selene and Szilard trained their handguns on it and finished it off with silver slugs.

In the quiet afterward, they heard the unmistakable sound of a sword drawing within the room that the metal door had lately guarded. She handed Szilard her gun. "Reload that and give me that lantern," she said. He handed it to her and she turned, planted her foot, and flung it into the room where they'd heard the noise. The interior of the room exploded in light, revealing crates, junk, and one lycan, in a corner, with a sword out.

 _Charles._ She remembered the year, so it had to be him. She was a spectator in this dream, but she knew enough to identify the foe in front of her – wounded, naked except for a codpiece and a sheath on a strip of leather over his shoulder, and apparently unwilling to go down without a fight. _Why was he behind if he was a pack leader?_ She knew he was old, too – very few could transform back into mortal form at will during a full moon.

In the blink of an eye, Charles drew a throwing knife from his leather, sprang, almost rodent-like to his left, and launched it. Selene followed its trajectory as it arced toward her face, leaving her with little time to do anything other than to duck. It sailed by her ear and buried itself in Szilard's upper chest, pitching him over backward, scattering guns and ammunition. She knew what had happened, from the memory of the aftermath, but it frosted her to watch it all happen again. She would've knocked it off its trajectory – somehow – perhaps enough to instead send it into Szilard's jugular, rather than his collarbone.  She put away the thought.

She kept her eyes on Charles, who charged and commenced thrusting and slashing with his sword. She was forced to play defense for what seemed like an eternity, especially in the dream when she, in retrospect, could've counterattacked at any number of points – disabling the lycan with a strategic stab.

She blocked the exit, not that the lycan, she realized, had any desire to do anything other than fight to the death. This was fine with Selene – the death dealer's creed stated that only one could leave the battle alive.

Charles was stocky and appeared old, with gray hair combed back into a small ponytail. His beard was short and looked to have been meticulously groomed. His large nose rose from bulging cheeks. Despite his looks, he moved deceptively fast. She knew she probably faced a skilled swordsman, like any of the proficient death dealers in the coven – Kou, Florian, Halldór... Halldór had defeated her at sparring by sheer physical force, but Kou and Florian had employed a more analytical, but no less deadly, technique. Duncan had been her trainer at swords, but after awhile, she'd bested him, but couldn't reach the level of the other three. Ophelia fought dirty to make up for her lack of proficiency. Many times, she simply had let her dogs tear an opponent apart.

Whatever Charles' wound, she decided she should exploit it quickly lest it heal and she lose whatever advantage it gave her. She went on the attack, but Charles stood his ground, blocking and attacking with an ornate sword – engraved just like hers. This was rare, but not unusually so. It didn't match the image from Michael's camera phone, but perhaps he borrowed a sword from another fighter like she did with Zsanett's sword, which she'd taken possession of upon her death.

This lycan knew it would be doomed if it transformed into the animal – she admired its discipline while her own pulse pounded in her head and her eyes itched. She wished she had her father's scythe, so she could strike from a distance and confound her opponent. She circled around him in an attempt to gain another advantage, but he followed her, not leaving anything to chance. She pressed in on offense to get him to overcompensate and lose his balance, but he didn't take that bait, either. She thought she could see a hint of a smile and then he went back to business.

 _Two hours to dawn._ He tried to wait her out, she knew. Caught between death by the sun or a lycan swordsman, she chose the lycan – at least she had a chance to take him with her. She locked swords with him again and was rewarded with a left paw pulling at her hair. She borrowed a page out of Ophelia's playbook – she let go of her sword, seized Charles' right forearm, pulled it up to her left ear, and buckled her knees. She went straight down, flat on her back, landing with one knee up and her elbow up. Charles' codpiece mashed into her knee and his weight carried his neck onto her elbow. His right arm went slack and she took the opportunity to clamp down on a mouthful of sweaty muscle. He groaned and convulsed, trying to break free, but it was too late for him. She spat him out and muscled him off her like she would an over-enthusiastic vampire suitor. She sprang to her feet as he struggled to his – blocking the exit. Somehow in the tussle he'd wound up with both of their swords. Not only was he more deadly because of the happy accident, but also because he now had nothing to live for. But it was now she who could wait him out.

He lunged forward, slower now, and swung his swords in arcs, hoping to connect. Forward he crept, losing energy by the second. Would he collapse before he cornered her? She calculated her counterattack – she would charge him and bowl him over. It was her only hope, the edges of the swords be damned.

Shots rang out and she startled.  Charles' eyes widened in surprise. Szilard aimed with the other gun and emptied it, as well, into Charles' back. In the process, Selene saw her opportunity and sprang at Charles. She caught a sword edge back-handed in her midsection as her body smashed into his. He crashed onto his back while she continued in a somersault over him, landing raggedly in the dust near Szilard's feet. As she straightened, Szilard kept his gun trained on Charles. She remembered in the dream that Charles hadn't returned to his feet. She knew she would look anyway, take the gun from Szilard, walk to Charles side, look into his eyes, take aim, and... hold her fire. _Are you the one, old lycan? Do you remember me and my family?_ She knew in the dream that he wasn't. At the time, though, she'd held him responsible just like the rest. She reached down, pulled her sword from under him and sheathed it with finality. She pressed her hand to the place on her abdomen where her own sword had cut through cloth, leather, and skin. She bled heavily, but she would recover.

  
\--0--  
  
  
She stood there, with him, for how long she didn't know. The world encompassed only her and the dead, ancient lycan before her. In the dream, righteousness, vengeance, and anger had been replaced by pity, determination, and another kind of anger – exasperation, actually, rather than the blind rage that was her companion and that she loosed to tear at an opponent. She knew then that she wasn't the same person who had killed Charles. She did not know who she was in the dream, only that she was different. _This cannot go on,_ she thought as she took the sword – a different sword – in her hand and cut into her other palm. As the blood flowed, she thought, _This is my command: make the immortal, mortal._ She bent over the dead lycan and pierced his body with the wet sword and held her bleeding hand above his mouth. As Charles opened his eyes, she could see very clearly what had been done to him and others like him, lycan and vampire, all victims of war. She knew what the command meant, for this strange person had bestowed his grace upon her, as well, but at a different, difficult time. It was _his_ fragment of memory she held in the aftermath of battle. _Alexander?_ She wondered. She couldn't be sure. Then, somehow, Charles lay in her arms as she walked from the dead room, his silvery-white eyes gazing heavenward.


	15. Vigil

**_Night Two_ **

A vigil seemed important to him, subconsciously, but Michael forced himself to concentrate on other things. His mind never seemed very far from Selene, laying still and cold in the "guest" bedroom of their 1535 suite. After her consciousness had left her and her eyes had gone still, he'd closed them and drew the covers up to her chin. He'd silenced the monitor and reset the trigger to alarm at the return of vital signs. He'd patched it through to his mobile phone, so that he would receive a text. He'd set up a twice daily schedule to draw blood to test for serum concentrations, so that he could predict when his test subject might awaken. The more like a test subject she became in his mind, the easier it was on him. Then he thought of people who kept dead grandparents in their beds for years, collecting their Social Security checks.

He understood even more fully her vigil over Dagmara and what might have possessed her to haul his body aboard a helicopter after he'd been slain at _Sancta Helena's_ berth.

Important telephone calls came on her satellite: from Duncan, Kou, Florian... and on her mobile: Erika... he let them all go into phone mail. At some point he'd have to explain her absence. This would be easier on this side of the Atlantic than in Europe, strangely enough. He knew certain vampires would have a fit if they knew she'd been incapacitated and in his care, despite their exile. If he'd given his number out to the vampires in Europe, he'd likely get the calls, too.

A particular number caught his attention on Selene's satellite phone – not identified by name, but familiar from another anxious time, four years ago. A second call from the same number came after the first. This time, he answered it.

"Is Selene available?" a voice rasped in an ancient Hungarian dialect.

"Is this Emánuel?" Michael asked in his modern, though visiting student version of Magyar.

"Is Selene available? Yes or no?"

"She is not," he said firmly. "May I help you? This is Michael Corvin."

"I'm not sure that you can. We've been attacked," the old lycan said as though from clenched teeth.

It sounded eerily familiar and he hoped it wasn't the vampires that were responsible this time. Then he remembered that what happened between lycans and vampires was scarcely his concern – only that the bloodshed was minimized. "By who?"

"By other lycans and mortals, amazingly. We intend to counterattack and would like Selene to paint the target, as it were."

"I'm not sure I can help you, there." Michael then had a thought. "Did you recognize any of the lycans?"

"We only know that lycans and mortals attacked, but none survived who could identify them."

Michael felt a chill. "Have you informed the coven? Did you call Lord Torma?"

"Pointless. We need action."

"Look, I don't know what kind of action you're thinking about..."

"I think you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about," Emánuel snapped.

"Selene has a lead, which I believe is being checked out."

"Where is Selene?"

"She's indisposed. I'll pass along your message when she becomes available again. Call the coven – perhaps they have a lead for you." Then he hung up on the lycan – more easily done than on the curious vampires.

He decided that he needed to get out of the apartment and do some productive work – at least he could escape Selene's phones. He went to check on her and noted, unsurprisingly, that there hadn't been any change. He approached the bed and brushed her cheek with his fingertips, willing her to awaken. Instead, he heard a rap at the door.

He went to the peep-hole and saw Erika standing in the alcove outside of their doors. She appeared to be fumbling with something out of the frame and he decided she was possibly going to use a pass card to get in. He opened the door, startling her.

She recovered and then her expression turned to annoyance. "Michael, people have been trying to get in touch with you and Selene."

"Yes, I know," he said softly.

"Where is she?"

He calculated how productive a blatant lie would be. "She's inside."

"What's going on? She missed her class."

He motioned her in and then opened a path to the bedroom to the immediate right.

She glanced into the room and then back at Michael. "What's wrong with her?" she asked, with the beginnings of fright in her voice.

Michael walked past her and to the side of the bed opposite to Erika. "She injected herself with the serum we developed."

She walked in, looked up at the silent flatline on the monitor, and then back down at Selene. "Is she dead?"

"I don't think so – just hibernating."

"What do you mean, like the Elders?"

"No, different. Like Dagmara when we found her."

"Why did she do it?" she said softly, but directly.

Michael calculated again. "She had dreams and memories that she wanted to get to the bottom of."

"I can certainly relate," she said and blew out a deep breath.

 _That was a new twist._ "What's that?"

"Léna will want to know."

Michael had a decidedly different opinion about that and let his fingernails show it. "She's my patient and nobody touches her," he said in the beginnings of a growl.

Erika looked down at his fingers in alarm and then met his eyes again. Her features softened. "I understand, Michael." She turned toward the bedroom door and then looked back. "What should I tell people?"

Emboldened, he said, "Tell them she's participating in a research experiment and won't be available for awhile."

"Let me know when she wakes up and I'll let Léna know."

After she left and he drew his fingernails back in, he realized that she cared too, but didn't have the nails to show for it. He hoped Viktor's memory wouldn't object to his care and send Léna's worshippers to seize her. He sat on the other bed and eventually let the drowsiness, which had been gnawing at his edges, overtake him.

  
\--0--  
  
  
If Janas had any doubts, Dagmara's testimony erased them. Their mortal allies argued that the time had come – and they were right. Géza had argued for patience, but there wasn't a time as good as now. The mortals had not, until now, heard the entire tale of Marcus' willful slaughter of their own ranks. Selene had, fortunately, been very trusting of Dagmara and had told her _all_... willingly. What better ally could there be than this? She'd terminated Viktor and Marcus after all.  In the process they'd terminated several cleaners, initiating this entire process - just as it was supposed to happen in that eventuality.

A van and a sedan carried Janas and his comrades south from Budapest on Route 31, toward a country villa on the outskirts of Gyömrö that was familiar to him from reigns past. As he rode in the passenger seat of the van, the mortals behind him chattered about strategy and clattered their weapons. Ophelia, dog-less and silent, sat amongst them. He glanced back at her and she gazed wordlessly back at him.

Darkness provided cover, but it also would mean that their targets would be awake and about. This suited him, because he preferred that his enemy challenge him, rather than simply provide a target for practice. The soldiers of Somogyi mansion had probably been depleted by the burning of Ordogház on that first night of Marcus' rampaging reign five years ago. Lord Councilor Somogyi, himself, had ended his centuries-long reign over life on that fateful train with Lady Amelia. His own love's life, and consequently his love of life, had ended likewise – all by the hands of war.

They'd brought an arsenal with them as insurance. Different lycans, those who'd died and been reawakened, would assist him, Ophelia, and the mortals in this battle. Unlike before, these lycans would gain no satisfaction in the assault on Somogyi mansion. He'd not been to this mansion in ages – not since those ancient ages when they'd needed occasional reinforcement of Lady Amelia's fortifications due to Ottoman activity in the area. They wouldn't have the luxury of reinforcements now. The time for war between lycans and vampires had long passed. Now was the time for another kind of war that would cleanse the world like the flooding river's wake.

The van and the sedan reached the end of the drive and parked on a gravel patch to the left side of the mansion, near a small garage. Lights blazed in the interior of the modest, though spacious, three-story stone mansion and they could see activity within – vampires going about their business. A man appeared in a side door of the mansion, descended a short flight of stone steps, and took a pathway generally toward them and the garage. Janas' compatriots had all stepped out of their vehicles and stood nearby, awaiting his instructions.

The man from the house arrived amidst them, but before he could open his mouth to challenge them, he happened to catch a glimpse of Janas. His eyes flew open and then he caught a glimpse of another ghost – this time Ophelia, who'd walked forward.

"Hello," Ophelia said.

The man looked back at Janas, but could only say, "Ha..." before Janas raised his weapon and annihilated him with a slug of blue sunlight.


	16. Between the Light and the Light

Upon the arrival of Selene's old, green Audi to the front entrance to the keep at Castle Víg, Kou's team commenced loading their firepower. Florian had assumed the worst, and so put the entire European coven on alert. Security at Somogyi Mansion had missed their 0200 check-in and no amount of calling on mobile phones seemed to help. The mansion had gone eerily silent in a grim repeat of the events that had heralded the discovery of Ordogház's destruction, according to Florian. Kou, like Florian, hadn't known what to think, and so Kou planned to arrive heavy.

Earlier, the coven had also been spooked by the report, coming in just after dusk, of lycan-on-lycan violence. Ordinarily it would've warmed Kou's heart. The local alpha, Emánuel, had reported that attack to Lord Torma as he had no other avenue of communication with the coven with Selene incommunicado. As far as Kou was concerned, the same roving pack of lycans might have knocked Somogyi Mansion offline. Torma Mansion, for their part, had gone into crisis mode and so Duncan was being dispatched with other soldiers to buttress those defenses. With Kou's team's departure, Haruye would be the ranking death dealer, aside from Lord Florian, within Castle Víg.

His former brother-in-laws could handle Gellért Mansion and Ádám would defend Polgár Mansion. Florian had sent a car to his own mansion to remove his wife and servants to Castle Víg.

Southeast of Budapest, Kou's team passed Gyömrö to its north on Route 31, and then turned right onto Mendel Avenue. They approached the main turnoff that led to the driveway toward Somogyi Mansion. "Continue on," Kou said to Izidor, the driver. "If there's still a problem, I want to preserve the element of surprise." They made a left onto Mihály Táncsics Street. _Selene can mow lawns, but not me. You can take the girl out of the farm, but can't take the farm out of..._

"We're being tailed," Izidor said, eyeing the rearview.

Kou snapped out of his thought and turned around and let the headlights of the pursuing car bathe his face. "I think they're just going our way." _Yes, just go our way, please._

"I don't know. They turned when we turned."

"We'll see," Kou replied, but drew his machine pistol and lay it on his lap. He directed them onto another turn and then several other turns as they zig-zagged down smaller avenues and eventually onto gravel roads amidst agricultural fields. Their pursuers showed no sign of breaking off the slow chase. "Pull over and let them pass," he said.

Izidor pulled the Audi over at a corner of a field, but instead of going around, the other car pulled in behind them. The other vampires in the Audi, Kalio and Imogen, looked around anxiously.

"Sit tight and let them make the first move," Kou said. "No sense just walking into something." He watched in his side-view as the passenger door of the other car opened and a man stepped out – armed.

Kou cracked his door open, bent over and aimed his machine pistol rearward. "You've got three seconds to drop it!" he shouted at the approaching man.

The man obeyed, and the three other vampires climbed out of the Audi and strode back to the Volvo that sat parked behind them. They covered the four occupants and Imogen emphasized their point by jumping onto the hood of the vehicle and pointing her pistol at the surprised driver.

"On the ground," Kou said to the man from whom he'd deprived his weapon. "Everybody out... and slowly," Kou barked.

The other occupants of the Volvo opened their doors without hesitation. One man in the rear passenger seat slammed his door in disgust, Kou noted. "Put your fucking weapons down, vampires. We're not here for a confrontation," the man hissed.

Kou didn't recognize these people, but they evidently knew him. "Talk," he said.

The man, sporting gray hair and pursed lips under a moustache, walked up to him. "Kou, is it? You have more reason not to shoot us than to shoot us, so how about it?"

Kou didn't actually need his gun; he could kill him with his bare hands before the man blinked, so he acceded. He pointed his pistol skyward and the other vampires relaxed and followed suit. Imogen remained on the hood of the Volvo. "All right. Who are you? And be quick about it because we're on a schedule, here."

"Oh, yes," the man said, nodding generally to the east. "My name is Emmerich and we are some of which you affectionately call 'cleaners'."

"What are you cleaning?" Kou said.

Emmerich laughed once. "Hopefully not you, if you'll listen to what we have to say."

"Which cleaners are you?"

"We're the cleaners that you like."

"Tell me why I should like you."

"That house you're going to is an ambush. We're warning you of that."

"We intended to establish that. I don't like you yet."

"You've got a more serious problem than you realize."

"Worse than?" Kou said, stretching his arm eastward. He holstered his weapon.

"Just as bad."

"The chessmen?" Kou ventured, shrugging his shoulders.

"You're getting warm, Kou. Not the chessman you should be concerned with – but what the chessmen have allowed to be unleashed."

Before Kou could respond, Emmerich cut him off. The other vampires listened attentively.

"...Immortals, whose sole task is to exterminate all those who are... _immortal_."

"How do you know this?"

"The chessmen are cleaners who want to revive this exterminating army. We have been at war with the chessmen for the past five years. _We've_ been charged with keeping this immortal nemesis in hibernation."

"In hibernation like Dagmara?"

"Yes – that's why she's deserted the castle. She's met up with the others who have been awakened."

"Who awakened her?"

"She awakened on her own in your very own castle and she lived amongst you, her true purpose unknown to you. We are the keepers of the army and charged by Alexander Corvinus himself to keep the army in hibernation. Many of us are keepers, and those of us who are keepers know the location of an immortal in hibernation. Now that some of them have gotten out..."

Incredulously, Kou said, "Why all the secrecy? Why not tell each other where these immortals are sleeping?"

"The risk is too great. If I know where two are, instead of one, then the chessmen could find out two. We are responsible for one, and only one, sleeping immortal. If I know where two are, and I become incapacitated, then two will rise."

"So you'll keep drugging them in perpetuity?"

"Our choices are two: let them rise or kill them. Could you kill them in their innocent, sleeping state? Could you kill Dagmara in cold blood? This is the legacy of Alexander Corvinus – to raise an army to wipe out the immortals should some calamity befall him and us. But we are not dead, vampires, and as long as we live, they sleep."

"So these chessmen are carrying out Alexander's legacy?"

" _We_ are his real legacy. _We_ will not, nor will we allow, immortals to simply be exterminated. We don't agree that Alexander should 'wash his hands' of you or your lycan brethren. Don't you want to live?"

"Yes, of course," said Kou, incredulous again.

"Then help us."

"Do what?"

"Defeat the chessmen and their immortal allies."

"You tell us where these immortals are sleeping, and we'll take care of them – unlike you, I don't have any qualms." Kou wasn't under any illusions, either. To him, these cleaners meant to hold onto some sort of power by keeping the hibernating, immortal army secret. _Now, it must be getting out of hand for them to approach us._ "Now, if you'll excuse us, we're going to charge that mansion."

"You won't survive," Emmerich intoned.

"As a death dealer, my choice is one: succeed at my mission or die trying."

  
\--0--  
  
  
Kou and the vampires left the mortals where they parked and galloped across intervening cropland. The weapons and spare ammunition in his coat banged against his body at each footfall. "Florian, did you hear all of that?" he said out loud.

 _"Just about every word,"_ said Florian's voice in his earpiece.

"We're proceeding unless you recommend otherwise." He glanced at his watch – 0445 – and picked up his pace. The others followed suit along the 900-meter sprint.

_"Proceed. Let us know what we're up against. We can't send reinforcements."_

"I understand," Kou said.

They reached the treeline and pushed in, headed for a partially obscured glow that was Somogyi mansion. The force that occupied the mansion either didn't care about the lights or perhaps assumed, wrongly, that against whoever might challenge them, they would prevail.

They stopped inside of the woods just fifteen meters from their objective.

"Do they have UV rounds, you think?" asked Izidor.

"We'll just shoot them first," Imogen said. "Who's that?" she added, nodding toward the front of the mansion, where a vehicle – a Volvo – approached and parked in front.

"If I knew they were going there, I would've asked for a ride," said Izidor.

 _"What's going on?"_ Florian's voice said.

Kou looked two trees ahead, to where Imogen hid. Looking up, he could see a faint lightening in the eastern deep blue night. These vampires would need shelter soon and he'd hate to see Imogen's olive skin cooked to gray. "The keepers look like they're going to rush the mansion," Kou said. "I guess we've got to give them some help."

They jogged ahead, closing on the house. At ten meters, they entered the clearing while the keepers knocked on the front door and shot the hapless being who answered. At five meters, Kou and the vampires quickened their pace, vaulting over shrubs.

"Through the windows!" Kou barked as he drew his pistol. At two meters, he leaped, fired three rounds into the window to the left of the front door, tucked his head, and impacted on it. He somersaulted and landed flat on his back on a hard, though carpeted, floor. Chunks of glass clattered everywhere; before opening his eyes, he squeezed the trigger on his pistol. When he opened his eyes, two beings whirled in the foyer and he greeted them with slugs. Elsewhere in the mansion, even above, he heard the satisfying sound of gunfire from vampire automatic weapons.

He sat up and found himself in a sitting room. The keepers worked forward in the foyer and Kou turned his attention to a rear doorway to a dining area beyond. He ran to it in a crouch and stopped himself at the wall adjacent, underneath a portrait of Viktor. He glanced to his right, where he'd dropped the two moments ago. He'd hit both with several slugs, but now they both struggled to aim their own automatics back at him. _Immortals._ He drew a second pistol from inside his coat. A figure appeared in the dining room to his left and he dropped the newest visitor with fire from his left hand. With his right, he fired two bursts of silver slugs into the heads and torsos of his first two victims. They groaned and gurgled, but still continued to make an effort to stand.

"Silver doesn't stop them," he said into his microphone, to nobody in particular. "Not lycans." Whatever they were, their remaining eyes blazed silver-white, giving him an uneasy feeling, reminding him of Selene's eyes on her raucous homecoming at Polgár Mansion five years ago. Another figure moved in his peripheral vision in the dining room. He pointed his weapon at it and he recognized the figure as it retreated.  "Ophelia's here," he said into his microphone.

 _"Shit!"_ Izidor said.

 _"Ophelia from Ordogház?"_ said Kalio.

 _"What do we do?"_ Izidor asked.

 _"Shoot her in the face,"_ said Florian from the castle.

Kou wouldn't hesitate, but thankfully Florian had made that call. Unfortunately, they didn't have UV rounds – not that it would help them, anyway. He ducked into the dining room to get away from the two immortals that seemed unwilling to die no matter how much metal he pumped into them. He suddenly had a feeling this would be a long battle. The constant gunfire elsewhere had decreased to sporadic bursts, yelps, and guttural groans.

"Imogen, talk to me," Kou said. In the too-long silence, he added, "Has anybody seen her? Which window did she go in?"

 _"Upstairs,"_ said Kalio.

 _Shit._ Kou turned to his left and investigated the kitchen. "Has anybody gone to the basement?"

 _"No,"_ said Izidor.

At the same time Izidor spoke, gunfire erupted behind him. A bullet grazed Kou's shoulder and another entered his upper right arm. He lurched into the kitchen, holstered his left gun, and began rifling through drawers. He spotted a meat cleaver hanging above the counter and against the wall opposite the dining room. He seized it and turned around in time to see two disfigured, transformed lycans lurch into the kitchen. _Oh yes, lycans._ He gave each a half-clip to the head, which staggered them. He put his pistol on the counter and commenced hacking, two-handed, at the necks of the lycans. In seven strokes total, he had their heads off. He wiped the blood off his watch – 0520, it said. "We've got to get to the basement, vampires," he said.

Silence answered him as he stepped over the headless lycans. The firing had ceased on his floor, but continued above.

"Vampires in my team, answer me," he said.

 _"Vampires of the coven,..."_ Florian began in his ear.

 _"They're all dead, Kou,"_ said a female voice in his mobile. _"Come to the basement."_

"Whose side are you on, Ophelia?" he said, but he already knew.

_"Come to the basement and you'll find out."_

Kou walked gingerly through the dining room, through a corpse-littered foyer and into another living area that looked to be the library. One of the keepers lay there with half his face chewed off and bloody bullet holes in his torso. Above both him and the blood-soaked carpet, Kou spotted a sword mounted on the wall, below a portrait of Lady Somogyi, who'd died in the inferno of Ordogház as she'd awaited her husband, the Councilor. He reached up and lifted it off the wall, turned to his right and found Kalio crumpled in the doorway between the library and the other front room. The body count seemed low on this floor, he thought. _Perhaps more are dead or dying upstairs._

He backtracked to the foyer and noticed an old, wooden door in a wall underneath the stairwell that led to the upper stories. He opened it and scanned downward to where it led to another door, shut tightly, at the bottom of a flight of stairs.

Through his earpiece, he heard her inhale with an abrupt, ragged breath. _"Janas is waiting for you,"_ she said in her flat voice, rendered even flatter in the mobile phone.

"Not before I deal with you, traitor," Kou said – and then he hissed for good measure.

 _"It doesn't matter,"_ she said without inflection. _"All will become mortal."_

He swung his sword in a spasm of rage, burying it in the molding of the doorway adjacent to the door leading to the basement. He imagined it taking off her head. "You're forgetting that I'm an executioner, as well," Kou said. He began to feel the burn, then, as pre-dawn daylight leaked in through broken windows. He thought of any number of insults and things to say to shame her – of how they'd both, along with Zsanett, Florian, and the rest, been assembled by Amelia in her 17th Century reign. And then... "Would you kill your own brother, Ophelia? Your mother? They both live, death dealer, in the mansion you were born in."

 _"We're not meant to live, Kou,"_ she said emotionlessly.

"Show yourself and I'll hasten your exit," he muttered and then descended the stairs as the upper floors grew silent.

He reached the lower level and opened the door to a darkened basement. He found himself inside of what probably was a light-lock, the exit door of which looked considerably more modern than the rest of the house that he'd been in. He depressed the door lever and eased it open. Beyond, the lights flickered on as if on a motion sensor. The unmistakable smell of carnage and discharged weapons also greeted him. Walking fully in, he found a modern living space that could accommodate a number of living vampires during the daylight hours. He'd noted the heavy shutters on the upstairs windows, but this was an absolute shield against daylight and perhaps also meant as a refuge of last resort.

"Florian, can you hear me?"

He stood still for a moment and listened – nothing. Down a short corridor, he could see a dimly lit, open living area, complete with data center and a lounge. He crept down the corridor's length and noted that the odors grew stronger. He'd almost reached the open area where the smell seemed most intense, when something large, heavy, and living smashed fully into him and sent him whirling and careening over tables and chairs to collide with an interior stone wall.

He righted himself and drew his sword – to his astonishment he found himself facing down Halldór.

"That was an attention-getter," the giant vampire said, before Kou's mind could process the image in front of him. Halldór turned, reached to the wall behind him, and hefted a vampires' rod that rested there.

Kou went into a crouch and held his sword out in front of him. "The dead wouldn't have you, either? What are you doing here, Halldór?"

"Think of it as a final sparring match, just for fun."

"Are you a daywalker, also?"

Halldór stepped forward and swatted at Kou with his rod, which Kou blocked with his sword. Halldór then thrust with both ends of his rod in rapid succession, forcing Kou to continually block. He then found himself with the rod cross-wise in his chest, pushing him backward. Halldór forced him back until pinned against the wall under the weight of the rod in his chest. He leaned in close and Kou got an up-close view of his pearl-white irises. "What do you think?" he hissed.

"Like Selene, aren't you? Turned by Alexander Corvinus?"

"I am similar to that little girl in only one way. His touch made her an ally, but she doesn't know it yet."

"How many in Alexander's army?"

"Oh, I don't know, Kou. And, by the way, I don't think Zsanett's coming back – not that she wouldn't kill you on sight."

Kou's eyes itched and his vision concentrated as they blazed blue. He simultaneously kicked upward into Halldór's groin and jabbed his rigid hand into his neck. Halldór responded by raising the rod and pressing it onto Kou's own neck.

 _I'm not out of this yet,_ thought Kou. _I can deal with brute force._ He reversed the sword and drove the hilt, two handed, into Halldór's solar plexus. His opponent's hold weakened, allowing Kou to lift his knee, plant his boot in Halldór's midsection, and drive outward, freeing up enough space between them that Kou could sweep with his sword to within centimeters of Halldór's nose.

He swung again and Halldór blocked the shot with his rod. He then jabbed the rod forward, nearly connecting with Kou's face if not for his own block. Kou went for Halldór's head again, but came up short as Halldór ducked and withdrew.

Kou circled his foe and feigned a right-side thrust. As Halldór moved to parry, Kou tossed the sword to his left hand, stepped forward to grasp the end of the rod. He drove left, but caught the knob-end of the rod in his midsection. Halldór then emphasized his point by seizing the blade end of his rod and swung it in a 360-degree arc. Kou barely got out of the path of the iron ball. Instead of changing strategy, Halldór whipped it around in a second around-the-body arc. Kou retreated to a corner to avoid the propeller blade-like attack a second time. The knob smashed, with a resounding clank, into the stone wall to Kou's left, showering both warriors in stone chips. Kou swung forward toward Halldór's momentarily unprotected right flank, but Halldór took a step back, straightened the rod, and aimed it toward Kou's own midsection.

Kou decided to simply absorb the blow and try to wrest control of the implement from him. The impact, however, incapacitated him more than he thought. He doubled over and let out a growl to Halldór's evident satisfaction.

"This isn't the box at Ordogház, Kou, if you hadn't noticed. You've never encountered anything like me; have you, martial arts master?"

Kou responded by pulling a throwing knife from his utility belt and flicking it with precision accuracy from his left hand into Halldór's left ribcage.

To Kou's dismay, Halldór reacted with an inconsequential yelp, but continued to push the knob-end of the rod into Kou's midsection. A red patch migrated down Halldór's shirt as Kou struggled against the force of the knob. As he fought unconsciousness, he pulled his pistol and fired two rounds into Halldór's forehead.

The rod immediately dropped as Halldór put a hand to his forehead and staggered backward. "Bad idea," he rasped. Halldór then drew his own pistol and fired a single shot, which Kou caught in his right forearm as he instinctively tried to block it. Instantly, a horrific burning emanated from the wound, and he knew he only had seconds to live. He emptied his entire clip in the general direction of Halldór before the burning fried his muscles and nerves and he found it impossible to stand up straight.

 _If this is my end, then I've ended as Zsanett – taking my foe with me._ The pain disappeared and he transported back to Uyghurstan of memory, where the golden fields merged with the golden hair of his love. Around her brown eyes swayed golden eyelashes and her warm, sweet breath reminded him of warm, noon breezes where he now walked once again. It occurred to him that he'd been dying for a long time and now he would rest where he belonged. The world went as white as Zsanett's gowns and then ended.


	17. In the Beginning

In the beginning, rotating, pulsating light enveloped her. She separated from it and then became aware of it. She studied it and decided it was some kind of sun. In her sleepy mind, she kicked and clawed her way back toward it... and then plunged up and through it. Then it all went dark as she surfaced.

Selene gulped in a breath – barely. Her mind cleared a little more and she gulped in another. She tried to move in the suddenly cold environment, but nothing would work. Her eyes wouldn't see, her ears rang, and her tongue lay thickly in her mouth. On her third gulp of air, the force of it caused her to cough it back out and then desperately gulp it back in. _Wheeze... cough... wheeze... cough._

In time, her breathing settled. She remembered Dagmara's ordeal, then, and so decided to simply lie and wait it out. She also knew the cramps in her stomach would eventually force her to crawl off the bed in search for something to drink.

Her hearing and sight cleared and she became able to look around the room. It hadn't changed in the time from before when she'd checked out. The monitor to her right showed her that her vitals moved in a comforting, steady cadence. Below the screen, an LED beeped steadily. Curious, she stared at it until she could read the stenciling underneath: "Alarm," it said.

"Welcome back," somebody said.

She looked up to see Michael beaming back at her, then shortly after, sitting between her and the monitor. She tried to answer, but her throat was as dry as paper and her vocal chords refused to work. She lunged at his arm, but he drew it away from her at the last moment. After a moment she slowly realized, in her fuzzy mind, why he did so. Then she immediately regretted her loss of control.

"Easy, easy," he said. "I'll get you something." He disappeared for a moment, and then brought back a bottle with a straw in it. He put it to her lips and while he sat next to her with his left arm around her shoulders, she drank it in a half-minute.

Afterward, she simply sat there with him, gathering her strength from both the blood and the touch that he provided. She was thankful for the latter and for not being alone in this sudden, cruel rebirth.

"Do you want to lie down again?"

She shook her head and made an effort to swing her legs over the edge of the bed next to him. She sat immobile while he reached under her shirt and disconnected the leads. "How long was I out?" she whispered.

"Three nights," he said.

"Feels longer."

"Did you find out anything?"

The memory came back to her and her body, what parts of it she could control, tensed up. _The Future,_ he'd said. "Yes. I'm in the same bloodline as other immortals that Alexander Corvinus has turned." Giving her the strength to take on Lord Marcus was more of a calculated act than she'd originally thought. "Thanks for being here," she added.

"You couldn't keep me away," he whispered.

Her voice grew stronger the more she used it. Her sense of alarm also grew. "This bloodline that Alexander has created is a back-fire against the immortals."

"What do you mean?" Michael squinted in thought.

"Dagmara, Ophelia, Charles, and others – many lycans, too – their mission is to exterminate immortals."

"All of them?"

She looked up at him. "All of them, including themselves at the end."

"And you're one of them?"

"Surprise, surprise," she said and then carefully stood.

"You're certainly taking your time," he said from the bed.

"For awhile after I came back to the coven five years ago, I _did_ want to kill everybody – but I felt that way mainly because everything that Viktor had stood for was a lie."

"And you don't feel that way now,..." Michael prompted.

"Perhaps Alexander wasn't in such a bad mood when he turned me. Perhaps it's worn off over the past five years." She walked out of the bedroom in her bare feet and went to the living area to look out the sliding glass door. Michael followed her after a moment and stood behind her. "Do you remember the enormous sword that Ádám tried to cut you with?"

"Yes – Halldór's, right? Léna's father's."

"Yes. He's one of them, but I don't know if he's reawakened," she said into the glass.

"So we only know about Dagmara, Ophelia, and a couple lycans?"

"Yes," she said absently. She turned away from him and wandered toward the cut-through to 1533. "Anything happen while I was out?"

Michael thought for a moment. "Yes – the coven's on alert."

Selene stopped in her tracks and gaped at him. _"What?"_

"I think we're starting to see what you just described."

She turned back around and nearly collided with the door jamb. She righted herself and went to the kitchen where her phones lay. She listened to her messages while her extremities went numb once again.

"You need to rest," Michael pleaded.

She couldn't, of course, especially after hearing the accumulated messages on her phone mail. "I have a feeling that Charles is awake."

"How do you know?"

"Immortals like me that have been re-turned by Corvinus have been given a place where he can be found. All we have to do is assemble and wait. The attacks on the lycans and the coven tell me that their activities are being coordinated. But, there's only one way to find out for sure, and that's to go look for him. If he can be taken out, then it might disrupt them."

"You're not going back over, are you?"

"It has to be me, Michael. I know where to find him. He and I have a history, anyway."

"I don't suppose you need company?"

"I don't," she said flatly. More softly she added, "Not this time. You have important research to do that might convince these Corvinus-turned immortals to reconsider." She went to the hotel landline, put the receiver to her disheveled head, and dialed upstairs. "Yes, Léna, please."

Erika came on the line. "Hello, Selene. I'm glad you came back to us."

"Thank you. I have some tales to tell."

"What can I do for you?"

"Is Léna available?"

"Why don't you tell me what you need and I'll pass it along."

Selene chose her words carefully since she'd always been accustomed to never having to ask for anything except from Viktor. "I wondered if I could have a flight out?"

"Where to?"

"Back to Hungary."

"Forget something?"

"No – urgent business."

"You're forgetting you're exiled..."

" _Yes,_ Erika. I've got to hunt an extremely dangerous lycan named Charles – perhaps you could pass _that_ along to Léna." Then Selene realized she probably could just bypass Erika and appeal directly to Viktor's memory.

Erika made no immediate response, but then said, "You might need to appeal to Léna."

"Thank you," Selene said, not quite succeeding in keeping the sarcasm out of her voice.

"It's her fleet. It's probably up to her to determine whether you're physically allowed on an airplane."

"Whatever you say, Erika – or perhaps I'll just take a commercial flight," she said sharply. "It'll be faster, anyway."

Erika paused on the other end. "You don't have any papers so you can't get through customs."

"Is Léna available?" She nearly commanded. Then she decided to forego an answer and simply hung up on her with a plastic _clunk._

Selene showered, groomed, and made herself presentable after days away from attention to her appearance. Even though her muscles hadn't reached 100%, she shook off Michael's offer of help and lurched into the shower stall unassisted.

With the warm water running over her, she replayed the argument that her maneuvering into the shower had prompted. _"I can't stand it when you get this way, Selene,"_ he'd complained. _"I'm actually this way most times, Michael."_ She couldn't believe that he'd not noticed before – that her demeanor in the last few years was definitely the _exception,_ and not the rule. He probably wouldn't have said anything were she not about to kite off the continent and leave him by himself. She still needed to ask him for something once she'd gotten out of the shower and she hoped it wouldn't be a battle to get it.

His voice in the bathroom interrupted her thoughts. He needed to return to the laboratory to baby-sit a sample, but would be back in an hour. She told him she wouldn't be there, but would visit him in the lab.

She went upstairs to Léna's offices and stepped to the receptionist's desk on the left. "I need to see Léna, please," she said in forced politeness.

Before the receptionist could respond, Léna poked her head out of the double doors beyond the desk. "It's all right – let her through," she said.

The receptionist nodded to Selene and went back to answering the phone. Léna wordlessly gestured to the conference room and shut the door behind them. Selene stood at one end of the table while Léna stood against a wall, opposite, folded her arms, and regarded Selene warily.

"Have you been keeping track of the attacks in Hungary?" Selene asked.

Léna only widened her eyes and nodded once in understanding.

"And did Erika fill you in on my request?"

"I thought Charles was dead," Léna said. Her normal pallor had gone ashen with Selene's confirmation.

"He very well may still be, but considering what's been happening, I think we need to assume the worst." She hoped Léna would believe her or at least give her the benefit of the doubt, which would be better than Viktor's reaction five years ago.

Léna stared at her for several moments. "How much of Alexander's memory do you have?"

"Not very much, I'm afraid."

"But enough to figure out the purpose of this army and that you are one of them?"

"In blood only," Selene said in an attempt to sound reassuring.

"You put me in quite a position. Viktor would immediately accede to your request, but given recent events, might suspect you want to kill him, again, instead. Marcus would be suspicious that you harbor more memories than you let on, and plan to kill him in vengeance for Alexander's death by Marcus. This is a perfect storm, Selene."

"I know this must be difficult, but I can assure you that you have every reason to trust me."

"To be rid of you would be a simple relief. I don't need reassurances."

"Talk to Michael. He'll provide all the reassurance that you might need."

"A hybrid... will reassure me, Selene?"

She clenched her teeth as her temper rose. "Hold your nose if you must." In the next instant, she'd regretted the comment.

Léna pushed away from the wall, walked two steps to a small, corner desk, and hefted a phone. She dialed an extension and then faced Selene once more. "Sabino," she said in Portuguese, "I need a contingent of segurança to accompany Selene to Budapest... Leaving within the hour... Via Overworld and Erika will be making the arrangements." She glanced across at Selene with the phone pressed to her ear. "Selene will meet you in the lobby... That's alright – she'll find you." She replaced the handset and approached the conference table. She placed a hand on it and faced off with Selene. "I'm staying in contact with Lord Florian. If you decide that you are similar to them in more ways than just blood, then you can stay in Europe. If you find your way back here anyway, you'll have a hell of a fight on your hands."

Taken aback, Selene simply said, "I understand." As she turned to leave, she added, "I thought that you would trust us more, since you'd invited us in."

Léna straightened to her full height. "It's purely business, Selene. Michael is an investment and you're protecting it. And, as I've said before, I love you as Viktor would. _But,_ if you betray whatever trust I do have in you, be it based either in past or present circumstances, then the result will not be pretty. Whenever a part of me acts against me, I cut it off."

Selene couldn't recall when Léna had sounded more like Viktor. She knew that her close presence in Léna's life likely brought Viktor's memories all the closer – which made it more imperative that she get out of South America to address the Corvinus immortal problem. As she walked out of the conference room and past the twin receptionists, she suddenly had a fuller understanding for why Sonja died: Viktor simply lopped off his own flesh and blood when she ceased to further his power and purposes. Perhaps Alexander had a point... but she knew the immortals could do better and she wouldn't rest until they did.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Selene waited until the Gulfstream flew over open water before she placed her first call on her satellite phone.

"Selene?" Florian said.

"What's the status?"

"Relatively quiet, but not in a good way," he said.

"So, no new attacks?"

"That is correct. Where are you?"

"I'm in the air, on the way back."

"Is Michael with you?"

"No. I'm on my own mission. I had to practically fight my way out of São Paulo."

"Yes, that's my understanding. I'm trying to keep Léna calm."

"I think my departure will go a long way toward achieving that."

"I've got some other information, Selene. Laudro has identified front companies and properties owned by Lorenz Macaro. We're now trying to determine what other assets there are and how much of what we've found still exists or is active. One of them, interestingly, is a small airline called De Futura."

"Léna would be interested in hearing about that."

"I'm briefing Lord Dömötör as I receive new information. Also, Haruye's team in daysuits visited Somogyi mansion and confirmed that Ophelia and others killed everybody there, including Kou."

"Kou's dead... _Shit_."

"Yes. Keepers arrived the same time that we did and we assisted them in cleaning up the mess. We found him in the basement. We also have had to change our equipment since Ophelia apparently purloined one of our one-touch mobiles."

"You've not identified anybody else we know?"

"No, except for somebody named Janas – perhaps a lycan."

"How are the lycans doing?"

"We keep them briefed, but they've not had any other attacks. We may need to throw them some red meat at some point so they don't do something foolish."


	18. Fate

After she closed the connection with Florian, Selene turned around and met the gazes of eight pairs of mortal eyes in varying stages of attempting to be inconspicuous about staring. The segurança lounged or sat in nearly every seat on the Gulfstream – the model of which, she'd noticed earlier, hadn't been outfit for travel by pure-blooded, vulnerable vampires. _No vampires returning on this jet._ ...Excepting her, of course – she hoped.

Léna had more reasons to make her disappear than to keep her, she'd surmised. Though some of the segurança were in her training class, these were ultimately loyal to Léna. Her last meeting with Léna hadn't ended well, especially with the eerie comparison of her with Sonja. To Viktor's memory staring through Léna's eyes, Selene had become a member of a new race with a mission to destroy Léna and all immortals like her.

They still flew within range of shore and Selene wondered if the pilot planned to ditch the multimillion-florint jet, drown her, and ferry the crew back to Brazil in an Overworld chopper. Selene's brain worked in the background, calculating the weaknesses of the mortals and which terrorist bodyblows she could inflict in order to disable them and seize control of the aircraft if it came to that.

A telltale metallic clunking sounded amongst them. She took two steps toward the group to confirm what she'd heard. "How did you get guns on this craft?" she asked, acutely aware of her lack of personal weaponry other than bare hands.

The captain of the group, a Brazilian of Persian-Japanese extract named Lankaranian, stood. He was perhaps one of three English-speakers on board. He wore his curly, jet-black hair cropped close and combed out. The veteran lines on his face belied his emotional intensity. "It's fine, Selene," he said. "They're stored in a special place in the hold. Would you like one?"

"No, thanks," she said. "What are you going to do with them?"

"Léna said there might be a fight. Is this true?"

"I hope not, but bullets might be almost useless against what I'm facing. Did Léna tell you to help me?"

"No," he said.

"Why are you here, Lanka?"

"We're protecting Léna's property."

"You mean her company's property."

"Yes," he said, matter-of-factly.

"Well, that's... fine," Selene said with a hint of sarcasm. She wondered if Léna conflated "property" and "investment" as it concerned Michael.

"What about Kou?" Lankaranian asked next, surprising her.

"Why do you ask?"

"You spoke of him – on the telephone."

"He's dead..."

"Dead?" he asked with concern clouding his face. "How did he die?"

"The same people who I'm perhaps going to fight... killed Kou."

"Why did they do that?"

Selene thought of objecting to this line of questioning, but then relented. It would be a long flight with no talking. There might not even be sleeping. She gazed sideways, out a cabin window into blue sky. "Because these immortals, possibly led by a man named Charles, don't believe that immortals should exist." She looked back into his eyes.

"Kou was Léna's friend."

"Excuse me?"

"He came to Brazil a few months ago."

"Yes, I was aware of that."

"Léna spoke highly of him."

"Actually, Kou was a death dealer who served Lady Amelia – that's probably why Léna thinks so highly of Kou." She wasn't sure if Lankaranian had any idea that Léna possessed Amelia's memories and didn't care to try and explain it to him. She thought she saw the connection to his own forces dawn on him, though.

He stroked his stubble, and then turned away from her to return to his comrades.

"He was also my teacher," she added.

Lankaranian turned back around, but made no comment. He then sat down and regarded her. As she took her own seat, she heard him say, "Kou taught Selene and now Selene teaches us." Then he began an earnest discussion in Portuguese with the others.

  
\--0--  
  
  
Selene awoke with a start and with Klosterman, another of her students, hovering over her. He held out a satellite phone to her. "Léna," he said, and then returned to his seat.

She blinked her eyes to clear her vision and then put the phone to her ear. Outside, night had fallen during their transatlantic trip. "This is Selene."

"I understand our murderous friends have an airline."  Her blood pressure jumped simply from the sound of Léna's voice.

"Yes, that's correct. I heard that Florian's keeping you apprised."

"Laudro just found out some interesting things about this little airline. The one thing you should be made aware of, but not necessarily be in a position to do anything about, is that a Futura airplane just took off from Ferihegy airport several minutes ago – headed here."

Selene sat up. "Who's aboard?"

"I'm assuming Halldór, at least."

Then she stood up. _Halldór?_ "How did you find this out? How do you know he's alive?"

"Florian mentioned to me that Ophelia spoke of a person named Janas. Halldór's last name was Janasson."

It made sense. Halldór might be one of only a few who could conceivably kill Kou. Selene closed her eyes in an effort to will away the scenario about to unfold. "I can turn us round and come back."

"Your airplane doesn't have enough fuel. I'm informing the segurança on your jet that they can expect to be welcomed at the airport by chessmen. No doubt they've noted that an Overworld airplane is arriving in an hour."

"They don't know that I'm aboard, do they?"

"If you're concerned, I can divert you to Bratislava."

"I'm not concerned and I won't be much use there, Léna."

"Unless they've hacked into airport security, which I doubt, they're oblivious to who's on board your airplane. Laudro couldn't get in, so I'm under the assumption that the chessmen can't compromise security either."

"Will you be able to once the Futura craft gets into Brazilian airspace?"

"Possibly. What's your plan for Charles?"

"I don't know, yet."

" _You don't know, yet?_ Perhaps you should go to Bratislava, then and think it over?"

"Are you sure what you want, Léna?" Selene began to pace. If she used Léna's name enough, she might start communicating with Léna and not Viktor. "You can park me in London, for all I care, but the result is going to be the same. You'll just have to trust me."

"All I see is an alliance between you and these marauding spawn of Alexander Corvinus. What do you want, Selene? Can you help me with that?"

"To protect Michael, the same as you."

"It is _not_ the same as me."

A mental image of Viktor, sitting on his throne, lecturing her, came unbidden to her. " _When_ have I given you reason not to trust me?"

"Before or after you killed me?"

Selene felt her circulatory system slow to a crawl. "Halldór is likely coming to kill you – his daughter – for real. Do you deserve the same fate as Sonja?"

"I've just put my real daughter in the air, but not to Europe."

 _At least Máli might escape this mess._ "Why don't you escape as well?" _Máli needs a mother._ Selene wondered what would be the more frightful scenario: Máli without a mother or Máli with a mother, with things inside of her that should be dead.

"You know me better than that, Selene. Enjoy Slovakia," Léna said, and then the phone chirped as the connection dropped.

"The woman's mad," Selene muttered to herself. She had half a mind to hurl the satellite through the hull of the aircraft. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lankaranian approach. She hoped none of the segurança understood Magyar.

"Sorry," he said in evident amusement. She grinned back at him, faintly, and handed him the phone. He looked back at her as he walked past and added, "No need to take over the cockpit." He opened the door to the flight deck and then, after walking through, shut and bolted it behind him.

She returned to her seat, adjusted it back, folded her arms, and stared out the window, lacking anything else better to do. She could take over the airplane, but against ten mortals and two pilots, it wouldn't be easily done in an hour. Besides, landing an airplane was a different matter entirely than jumping out of a building. She pulled out her mobile phone and dialed Florian.

"Selene, we're deploying in the vicinity of the airport," he said. "So are the keepers."

"You're wasting your time. I'm being diverted to Bratislava."

Florian went quiet for a moment. "Not according to the big board at Ferihegy. Your arrival time is 2200."

"Then why did she..." Then realization, of a sort, dawned on her. She looked at the firmly shut cockpit door and then back at the segurança lounging in the passenger area. "All right, then. I didn't think the coven would have anything to do with me."

"Who says it's the coven?"

"All right – whatever." Another realization hit – that there could conceivably be a three-way battle between mortals – to help decide the fate of immortals.

"Where do you want to go?"

"My old mansion and then, eventually, Városliget."

"I'll pass it along."

About an hour after hanging up, the jet descended through a familiar skyline. She watched the twin spires of the Terminal 1 control towers through the starboard side windows as the jet touched down and decelerated on Runway 1. After the jet rumbled into a turn to the right to make its way to the General Aviation Terminal, the cockpit door opened. Selene stood. "What's happened?" she said in English.

"Nothing anybody needs to know about," said Lankaranian.

Selene nodded. She suspected he'd countermanded Léna's orders with a gun pointed at the head of the pilot. Perhaps he'd only needed the power of suggestion. "Will you be disembarking, Lanka?"

"Are you in danger?"

"I'm not sure. The chessmen – our enemy – may be still here at the airport. If you need to leave to protect Léna, then I understand."

He thought quietly for a moment. "We will come with you to security while the airplane refuels. Then we must leave."

Lankaranian, Klosterman, and another accompanied her as she descended the ramp to the tarmac and made her way to the terminal. She suspected they might have brought guns, but wasn't sure. She didn't bother asking because she figured the less she knew the better.

The three surrounded her as she walked up the steps of the terminal and joined several other travelers who congregated to await their flights. She saw no familiar faces amongst them, but she doubted security would let anybody through who wasn't there to catch a flight. After an uneventful journey over the pedestrian walkway to Terminal 1, they arrived at the security station that they evidently had to pass through to set foot in the reconstructed terminal.

She turned to her escorts and offered her hand. "Good luck in Brazil. I hope I'm welcomed back when this is all over."

"You are welcome to come back and teach us anytime, as far as I'm concerned," Lankaranian intoned.

"I hope I taught you well."

After the segurança departed, airport security wanded and sniffed her. Beyond the checkpoint, a man and woman, both looking as though they meant business, stood along a wall staring at her.

 _Lycans,_ she noted. _But which kind?_

After security cleared her, she walked toward the lycans and then bore left, on her way to customs. She felt their gaze on her as she walked and resisted the urge to glance back at them. She was a nobody at the airport and strove not to draw attention to herself. The name on her visa read 'Karolina Böröcz' – a name from another time.

After clearing customs, she descended to the lower lobby and toward the beckoning night. She'd not cleared the automatic doors before she spotted a strangely familiar green Audi approaching from her left. She watched it warily as it pulled to a stop next to her. The man who stepped out of the passenger seat was also familiar, but very much out of place.

"Welcome to Budapest," Emánuel said, not smiling.

"Thank you. Are you my ride?"

"Get in," he croaked.

She'd barely pulled her boot in when the driver hit the gas. They careened around the loop surrounding the main parking area. She heard pops off to their left as they neared Route 4. "Who's shooting?" she said from the back seat.

"Probably cleaners sorting themselves out."

"Emánuel, we have to help them," she said in alarm.

"It's not our fight."

"It _is_ our fight. The more keepers that die, the more of Corvinus' army wake up."

"Fine," he said, and pulled out a phone. "Ardanah... Finish off the chessmen... No, I don't know how you tell them apart."

"Fuck," Selene muttered and dropped her head back.

"Use your noses unless you've forgotten how to. And... don't be showy about it," he added, glancing at Selene.

As the Audi pulled into traffic, Selene caught a glimpse of muzzle flashes in the driver's side view mirror.

"Where to?" said the driver.

"Gellért Hill," Selene said. "Minerva Street."

"What's there?"

"My house. Is there somebody in the pack that can make those ultraviolet rounds?"

Emánuel turned in his seat and regarded her with hazel eyes under a mop of blond hair. "We don't make those rounds."

"Bullshit. Do you want to win this fight?"

"Like Kou did?"

"Stop the car," she snapped.

"Keep driving," Emánuel instructed. "Facts are facts. We are going to win this fight."

"That's better," she muttered.

"Yes, we in fact do make _those_ rounds. Especially after Kou and his friends wreaked havoc in our pack five years ago."

She felt an upwelling in her eyes and decided to keep silent for the remainder of the ride.

In time, they arrived at the shuttered mansion that she'd once shared with Michael. The lycans followed her in and prowled the premises while she located her sword – exactly where she'd left it in a chest in their darkened bedroom.

"Good movie," Emánuel said, holding up a DVD case for Léon: The Professional.

"It's Michael's," she replied, lying.

"We have guns, if you'd like one of those," he said, nodding toward her sheathed weapon.

"No, thanks," she said. "I won't need one. Good night, Emánuel."

He pursed his lips.

"I fully intend to return to Brazil, if that's what you're thinking. Besides, you insulted Kou."

Emánuel cleared his throat. "We're keeping the Audi, but I'm posting a guard."

"That's fine. A package should arrive for me tomorrow and then I'll need your facilities."

"Ring me and I'll send a car. Anything else?" he asked dryly.

  
\--0--  
  
  
"Thank you," Selene said as she took the padded packet from the delivery man.

"Have a good day," he replied, and bounded down the stone steps of her sometime mansion and then along the stone walk to his waiting DHL van.

She rocked forward in her chair, planted both booted feet on the solidity of the porch, and withdrew her mobile from her jacket. In seconds, Emánuel's voice answered. "I have the package," she said.

"You've put me in an excellent mood," he said.

"I have what you need and you know what I require," she said.

"We'll be there in a few minutes," he said and hung up.

Five minutes later, a carload of dour lycans appeared on the street outside of the gate. She crossed the front garden of the mansion and folded herself in the back seat of a well-worn Volkswagen. Emánuel was not in the car, and so lacking a familiar face except for the driver, she rode the entire way to Vác in stony silence, punctuated only occasionally by comments exchanged amongst the three other occupants of the car. They eyed both her and the sword propped on the floor between her knees warily.

She half expected a pack of mortals, re-turned immortals, or both to attack their car en route to Vác, but they arrived at a small house on Damjanich Street without incident. She proffered the package to the lycans' munitions expert in the basement and then joined still more speechless lycans who passed the time by playing cards and watching sports on the television. She folded her arms, propped herself against a support post, and waited.

After 45 minutes, heavy footfalls sounded above. A few moments later, Emánuel maneuvered down the stairwell, too cramped for his frame. "I've found the party," he remarked as he reached bottom and straightened. Then, finding Selene's eyes, he turned more serious. "Now, where's our ammunition?"

Selene nodded toward the doorway through which their munitions expert labored.

The elder lycan glanced in the direction where she indicated and then turned back. He considered her with hazel eyes for several moments. "There's something that I've been meaning to ask: what is it like to be dead, Selene?" His eyes smiled in expectation of her response.

"Unsatisfying, to say the least," she said, and then noted that at least two of the surrounding lycans in the periphery chuckled to themselves. "But if you want to know what it really feels like, ask Léna."

"I bet she just loves you for that," he said. The munitions lycan then emerged and handed Emánuel a magazine. He took it, removed one amber-hued bullet, and held it up to the fluorescent light.

"If you behave yourselves, you'll get more," she said and held out her hand.

"You don't have a gun," he said, placing the bullet in her upraised palm.

"Souvenir."

"So, you no longer fear death – is that it?"

She considered a moment and thought of Michael. "I actually fear it more, now. I fear what it would mean for somebody else."

"I'm touched," Emánuel said. Another lycan behind him played an invisible violin.

She lifted an eyebrow.

Emánuel furrowed a brow and his mood. He withdrew a pistol from his jacket, removed the magazine and replaced it with the set that he'd just received. "Will you now show us where Charles can be found? Several of us are eager to satisfy a debt with his life." The lycan chorus in the background nodded.

"You're going to shoot him in broad daylight, then?"

Emánuel's demeanor sank further. "And I suppose you have a better idea? If you're not going to join us, why did you come all this way, then?"

"To have a chat."

_"To have a chat?"_

"To try and _convince_..."

"We're _done_ with talking, Selene."

"Are you going to let me finish?" Selene nearly shouted up at him. "If lycans and vampires can stop shooting at each other than perhaps Corvinus' immortals and the rest of us can. I'm not convinced sense can't be talked into him. I'm not like them, so I think it's worth trying."

"Perhaps you're too much like them," Emánuel growled. "The deal's off," he added. "You can find your own way back. We'll take our chances with these rounds."

 _Talking sense into immortals... what am I thinking?_ Selene thought as she reached the top of the basement stair and headed for daylight. She'd just reached the front garden of the modest home and had just withdrawn her mobile when her ears picked up urgent footfalls on the threshold behind her. She whirled in time to see Emánuel exiting and loping down the porch steps. She closed her phone and waited for him to reach her.

He fixed her with a scowl. "I thought that the mighty Selene wouldn't have the least hesitation about killing somebody who's intent on killing all of us."

"And I'm not going to explain myself to you. You've got your weapon."

"Lower your voice, vampire," he growled and glanced up and down the street. "And convince me you aren't one of them – perhaps your new-found fear of death will motivate you?"

She turned away from him and walked again toward the street.

"We'll give you part of today to talk to Charles," he added.

"You're welcome to tag along."

He strode after her and walked in front of her, blocking her way. "Politically, I cannot allow Charles or his allies to escape alive. I just lost part of a pack if you'll recall."

After a moment, she said, "I understand. Kou is also lost – as well as several others of the coven." She really did understand, but doubted he cared that much about Kou. But she also understood that a chance to stop additional bloodshed was a chance worth taking. She also felt that killing Charles wouldn't necessarily stop the conflict between lycans and vampires versus the re-turned immortals... or between keepers and chessmen.

"I don't think you do understand," the elder lycan rumbled.

"Come with me," Selene suddenly said. "If you're there, then he'll know we're united and mean business. Besides, I need my back covered in case Charles' immortals are out in force." All she needed was a chance and Emánuel had come around to her way of thinking without realizing it.

  
\--0--  
  
  
By 1300, they were on their way. Her planned original party of two had, in short order, swelled to eleven. The battered Volkswagen took the lead with almost the same lycans that she'd ridden with just hours ago. She'd been given her Audi back and drove it with one lycan, Vilmos, riding shotgun and another, Ardanah in the back. Emánuel and three others rode in a BMW in the rear. They took the E77 south, toward Budapest, once again. Choosing the most direct route, they looped onto the E71, which punched them into the city center. The expressway deposited them onto Kós Károly Boulevard and moderate-to-heavy two-lane traffic.

They'd nearly cleared the second loop of Peál László Avenue in front of the Széchenyi Bath House, when the Volkswagen in front of her abruptly lurched sideways and crossed partway into oncoming traffic. As time slowed down, a car heading in the other direction impacted on it and sent it abruptly back toward the Audi. Selene slammed on the brakes and nearly avoided colliding with the mess.

 _"What the hell just happened?"_ Emánuel's voice barked from the one-touch sitting in the center console.

She picked it up and pressed the talk button. "The Volkswagen just got plowed into from the right side." She put the car in park and had pulled the latch in the door when Emánuel barked in her ear again.

_"They can take care of themselves. We have an appointment."_

Beyond the mess on the left side, Peál László, heading east, beckoned. "Let's cross traffic and take the scenic way around," she said. "Before everybody else gets the same idea." She muscled her way across traffic and took the small street into Városliget Park. After a short distance, they paused and waited for traffic to clear at Városligeti Lane. The trees grew denser and the pedestrians grew fewer. At the junction with Liezen-Mayer, she abruptly turned left.

_"Where are you going?"_

"I'm just doing the unexpected. Humor me," she snapped back at him. In her peripheral vision, she saw Vilmos look at her sideways. In the rear view, Emánuel's car continued on Peál László along with most of the other traffic. Ardanah turned her two-meters-plus frame around and looked through the rear windshield at her departing pack leader.

 _"I can play that, too,"_ he said.

"I'll meet you at the chess tables," she said. In time, they circled around and picked up Vajdahunyad Boulevard heading back west toward her intended destination. They reached Peál László and were about to cross it when a car pulled out of cross traffic and blocked them. Selene reflexively honked the horn and then abruptly stopped when the three occupants of the other car got out and reached into their jackets and pants pockets.

"Those are lycans," Vilmos remarked as he pulled out his machine pistol. "But not from our pack."

Boxed in by other commuters behind the Audi, Selene could only gun the engine and try to pull off the road to the left to get around. The alien lycans opened fire, shattering the windshield and the passenger-side windows. Vilmos yelped and returned fire even as bullets and glass tore into him. Ardanah growled and opened up with her own pistol from the back seat.

Glass flew in Selene's face and she felt thudding in her upper torso where bullets entered. She instinctively ducked, put on the parking brake, and grabbed her sword from where it rested between her seat and the center console. She opened the door and rolled out. She fought to standing as the lycan with silver-white Corvinus immortal eyes closest to her emptied the remainder of his clip into her, let go of his gun, and reached into his jacket with his other hand. Her body and breathing labored, but before the gun hit the ground, she raised her sword aloft and forced her legs to push her forward. She closed the distance in two steps and decapitated the lycan just as he brought his second gun to bear.

She bowled over the lycan torso while the gun battle concluded on the other side of the car. Just as the second lycan ejected her magazine in preparation for reloading and filling Vilmos with yet more bullets, Selene lunged and swung hard. The second lycan slumped. The third lycan turned his gun toward Selene, but then staggered under the impact of multiple rounds from Ardanah's pistol into his head. As Ardanah finished firing and died, the remaining Corvinus lycan thought better of tangling with Selene, and so turned and staggered away along Vajdahunyad Boulevard. Selene retrieved the car keys, for what it was worth, and, more importantly, the one-touch. Though stooped from chest wounds, she gave chase, trailing blood and at times dragging her sword through crowds of shocked citizens and tourists of Budapest milling about on an otherwise pleasant afternoon at the Vajdahunyad Castle environs.

Sirens squealed at the edge of her hearing and after a moment she realized that the authorities most likely descended on this battle zone in the midst of the normally peaceful park. The Corvinus lycan ahead of her picked up his pace as his wounds healed. She stayed with him as she healed her own, leaving a trail of slugs as they spilled out of her bloody shirt, both in front and in back.

Their progress turned into a sprint as they reached the bridge beyond the castle. Other running shapes joined her from the woods on the right after clearing it, almost as an escort. From their dress, gait, and the fact that they didn't disrupt her progress, she decided they were cleaners who'd decided to either join the battle or perhaps clean up afterwards. Then her thoughts turned back to a fateful encounter in Ferenciek tere five years ago – an encounter in the metro that had irrevocably altered their world. Then she stopped – so suddenly that the cleaners ran another five meters before realizing that she'd done so.

War, war, war – always war. Viktor would be pleased indeed. Alexander's remedy for the situation – the final cleaning – turned out to be no remedy. She didn't know why she thought differently than the other Corvinus immortals. Perhaps she was the lone imperfection in his scheme. "You'd better hang back. Your deaths may make this situation worse."

"We want to fight, vampire," one said.

"That's very noble," she said, without any inflection from the sarcasm that she meant.

Ahead of her, on this crisp, October afternoon, two ranks stood facing each other in the distance. On the right, 50 meters away, stood Emánuel and several others along the side of the road. They faced downhill toward the lake where another rank stood under trees. She recognized one figure in the group by size and bearing as a vampire that she hadn't seen bodily in nearly 100 years. Bodies, about eight in number, lay on the ground in between the two groups. Unlike in chess, both ranks appeared gray in the distance and she doubted they would resolve themselves into clear black or white upon closer inspection. Emánuel stood out in the group on the right, uphill, and she began to walk in his direction along the road, still shadowed by the mortals. She pulled the souvenir bullet from her pants pocket. "Either of you have something that can fire a nine-millimeter?"

"Yes," one of the mortals said after a moment.

She held out her hand and the one who spoke slapped a pistol in it. The H & K fit like an old glove. She suddenly recognized his voice. She looked up and realized that the man who'd handed her the gun had been in the crowd who'd cleaned up the lycans from her auto wreck off the side of the overpass earlier in the year. She ejected the magazine, pulled out a conventional round and pushed the lone serum round in. Then she wondered how many of the same that Emánuel had left – and how many they would need to take out the opposing pieces at the bottom of the hill.

She reached Emánuel, who stood among four other attentive lycans and three anxious keepers. He stepped toward her as she arrived at the group. "Where are the others?" he asked.

"Dead," she said, glancing at the group down the hill. Then she nodded toward the group of cleaners standing with them topside of the hill – five of them now in the host. "They shouldn't be here."

"They hang around us like flies," he growled.

"How many serum bullets do you have left?"

"One," he said through gritted teeth.

"So have I."

"I don't think you're going to have your conversation, Selene. I don't smell Charles."

She looked back at the two mortals that had trailed her from the bridge. "You and your friends, come with me. You can collect those bodies in the middle." She began to walk downhill as one of the cleaners opened a mobile phone and chattered into it.

After 50 meters, she arrived at a collection of Corvinus immortals and, by her count, two mortals – chessmen, she presumed. She stood two meters away, with the H&K in her left hand and her sword in her right.

"You shouldn't be here," Ophelia said vacantly.

Selene's eyes lit on fire, despite herself. The other immortals standing with Ophelia stirred. "Neither should you," she replied.

"I don't think you heard me," Ophelia said.

"Where is Charles?"

"He's unavailable," a mortal said from farther down the line.

Selene tilted her head to the side. "Take cover, mortal." She raised her pistol and fired the lone serum bullet into a Corvinus lycan standing next to him. The lycan staggered, regained his footing, and then raised his own pistol. Then his eyelids drooped, his knees buckled, and then he pitched forward. Selene took one step forward and sliced down and across, neatly severing the lycan's head. "Take that message to Charles," she added after the lycan's head hit the ground.

Two of the re-turned lycans in Ophelia's group showed Selene their fangs and elongated their nails in response. Changing bones rippled beneath their skins' surfaces. Ophelia's eyes had also gone silver in response. Selene stared back at them from behind her sword.

Had Ophelia or any of them sported a sword and an ability to use it, the conversation would've gone differently. She thought of explaining her plan to Ophelia, but it would likely fall on deaf ears. She had another plan, but not for these immortals. Before she turned away, a mutt approached the severed head and then retreated to Ophelia's side. "I've seen you with better," Selene said, and glanced around at the other immortals beside her so that she couldn't mistake her meaning. "I see you still retain habits from when you were a vampire. Perhaps you'll learn some sense yet. Now, you'd better clear out before the authorities get here and you have to explain yourselves."

"I wouldn't be so confident, Selene," Ophelia said in monotone. "When Halldór succeeds, then there will be no use for you to fight."

Selene breathed a laugh and then walked away, back up the hill toward Emánuel's band. The sirens grew still louder and groups of citizens gathered along the road to ogle the dead that the cleaners had hauled topside. She pressed a button on her one-touch. "Let's get the hell out of here," she said to Emánuel.


	19. An Ending

The call had come at 0400, in the midst of her sleeping. She'd slept slightly better than usual, perhaps owing to her subconscious awareness that Selene no longer was in Brazil. Though she'd not had much personal contact with her during her time in São Paulo, the Viktor in her hadn't been fooled.

 _"A very tall man has left the Futura craft,"_ Sabino had said through his one-touch.

"Snap his picture and let me see. Tail him to see where he goes," she'd responded to her segurança chief. Of course he would, but she'd said it anyway.  She knew who it probably was.

_"He has several with him – eleven others."_

"They could be immortals or cleaners – don't let any of them out of your sight," she'd said.

_"We'll keep after them."_

"And please don't engage them when in public, if possible."

_"It might have to be, depending on where they go and what they do."_

"Whatever happens, I'd like an update every hour, please."

There had been no sleeping after the conversation with Sabino. She retrieved her silver-plated Bluetooth earpiece from her nightstand and put it on, and then walked to the office in their apartment to tap away at her laptop. In a fit of mischief, she prevailed upon one of her shadier associates to disrupt Futura's credit. If successful, the invaders would have to fork over hard cash to pay the landing fee, purchase fuel, and feed their mortals. Their jet wouldn't be grounded – it would just be an annoyance to them. Perhaps she could provide an anonymous tip to the authorities. It's the kind of thing Marcus would do. The image from the segurança's camera phone arrived and confirmed that her father had established a beachhead in Brazil – something the lycans had never been able to do.

The cold slab that had occupied her mind finally had begun to melt once she'd closed the conversation with Selene last afternoon. Though Léna had essentially accused her of conspiring with the enemy, Selene had stayed, admirably, focused on her mission. _He_ loved and would always love Selene, just as it had been with Sonja. But love, _he_ 'd discovered long ago, mustn't prevent one from doing what was necessary for the coven. _He_ had taught her well, along with the other death dealers that _he_ 'd created in his image. Even love of life came in second to the coven.

She contemplated the invaders in the low light of her study. Such a shame it was that Halldór had re-entered her life to steal her mind anew. The prospect of contact between Léna and her estranged father tantalized her as much as the prospect of his murderous campaign frightened her. His presence promised both Léna a father and her mother's memory a lover. The liquid pool of her mother's memory beckoned as Viktor's receded. The mortal warrior, Halldór Janasson, had been tamed once upon a time – at the end of her mother's teeth and at the top of her mother's legs. Perhaps he could be so tamed again and, with skill, he could be welcomed on her coven's velvet, white shores.

The coven, however, reacted as it should to Halldór's arrival – even before it had been confirmed. Lord Dömötör had mustered the vampire warriors as he ought, but they could do little in the daytime unless they donned day-suits. His dispatches revealed that several stationed themselves in her hotel and even in her offices, where the vampires toiled all night and the ultraviolet-filtering panes kept out instant death during the day. Treva, her best friend as well as a Kollárista, also rang and reiterated that she and the others of her clan guarded the memory of her mother – the same memory that ironically might invite Halldór in. Throughout the hotel, the segurança manned their strategic positions. Her once-welcoming hotel had become an armed garrison, unbeknownst to her other guests.

She knew her segurança who had escorted Selene had disobeyed. This, along with the vampire warriors who served under Lord Dömötör, the Kolláristas that were under no living soul's control, and her memories that were under Halldór's control at the moment, made her acutely aware that she might wind up being a helpless bystander while her natural father roamed within reach of her.

Then, on the desk phone, a call came at 0800 that broke her heart but repaired her clarity.

" _Mae_ , are the Turks coming?"

Tears sprang to Léna's eyes. "No, sweetie, no. Back then, it was the Ottomans who came to the castle." _...and we ran._ "Remember when Mr. Kou visited us? And when I told you about Mr. Kahn?"

"Yes, _Mae_."

"They were mortal Ottomans. But we turned them."

"Can I come home, now?"

"No, not yet. It's still dangerous."

"Are you scared?"

"Yes, I am, sweetie." Xavier, who had probably overheard the conversation, came to the doorway fully dressed. Behind him, the housekeeper busied herself in the hallway, her duties diminished by an inordinately straight apartment with Máli gone. "Do you want to talk to your father?"

Xavier took the cordless, went into the living room, and started up an animated conversation with his stepdaughter, which belied the pointed look that he'd given Léna moments before. Earlier, she'd insisted that he should go with Máli, but Luz drew the short straw instead. Another fight with him would ensue if she decided to do something the Kolláristas disagreed with. After all, they received the same briefings that she did.

He returned after hanging up. "Did you hear that they're paying a visit to some disreputable arms dealers?"

She looked up. "I heard. Anybody we or the mortals know?"

"No."

"Perhaps we should become acquainted?"

"If there's time, then we can. Can only mean that they're going to arm and attack. They have to know we're following their movements." He formed a question on his face. "Is that what Halldór would do – attack immediately?"

"He doesn't have anything to gain by waiting, so we can expect shooting – I just hope it's not here," she said, returning her gaze to the laptop monitor. "We should be thankful that he couldn't bring any more than the eleven that came with him, ruthless as he is." Then she had a thought. " _Unless,_ other flights made it through before we realized that Futura was connected to Alexander Corvinus."

"They could be inside the hotel for all we know."

 _I might as well say it,_ she thought. "I'd like to talk to him, actually."

His eyebrows went up. "As long as you have significant backup," he said with a brief laugh of incredulity.

"If there's a chance that we can avoid a huge, attention-getting uproar, then I'd be willing to do so. Ultimately, it can't hurt worse than the alternative."

She saw his face darken. "What's the real reason..."

She cut him off. " _Please_ don't do this."

"Look, I'm not jealous..."

"I'm not going to explain myself," she said flatly. "I'm sorry, Xavier. You just have to accept the reason as stated."

"Don't expect us to lie down while you pull your stunt."

"I'm not saying we shouldn't be prepared. In fact, I think we ought to start loading up the compound with fighters while we can do it surreptitiously. I'm freeing up resources for the segurança and day-suited vampire soldiers and anybody else who wants to go. Then we make sure Halldór gets there."

"Are you going?"

She sat back and folded her arms. "After Castle Víg, do you need to ask that question?"

Xavier changed the subject, almost. "Does Halldór know how to get to the compound?"

"I assume he knows the way – he wouldn't come here unless he had a plan. Dagmara, during her time in the castle, probably _innocently_ inquired and the coven, oblivious to her true intentions, willingly provided the information. Again, the coven is our own worst enemy."

  
\--0--  
  
  
Mischief crept to an open stairwell window overlooking a trash-strewn, cracked, and stained avenue in the Mimosa neighborhood of São Paulo, in the shadow of Highway 381. Below, two of the invaders milled around three rented cars. At 0930, his phone vibrated against his side.

"Are you ready?" Sabino asked.

"Yes, I see two at the car. Probably others are inside," said Spiro.

"Do you see the tall one?"

"No. Just Euro-thugs hanging out."

"Any of them will do. So do it."

Spiro hung up, attached the silencer to his rifle, and lined up his shot. He squeezed the trigger, and his target's head jerked as the bullet hit. Three seconds later, the target slumped to the pavement. _Mortal._ Two seconds after that, the target's companion glanced over at Spiro's handiwork and then looked around wildly.

Spiro whistled to the other, unarmed invader. The invader looked over, then up, and then made an internationally-recognized rude gesture while barking something in Hungarian. Spiro dropped a shoulder bag containing a mobile phone to the ground and then stood. He left the window and pushed open the door to an abandoned apartment, ran through it, and jumped off the balcony in back. A half-block away, he reached his car. He floored it as armed men rushed out of the back of the arms dealer's establishment. At least two bullets pierced the trunk with muffled thumps. After two turns, he ramped onto Highway 381 while looking nervously in his rear-view for pursuing immortals.

  
\--0--  
  
  
"Does he have it?" Léna asked Sabino. Xavier hovered in their apartment study and she kept her eyes on his as she spoke on her mobile.

"It's been delivered."

"And where are they, now?"

"Still shopping."

"Really," she said in a tone less a question than a verbal placeholder. "For somebody who _had_ to come here, he sure acts like he's got all the time in the world."

"What else could he be doing?"

"Perhaps recruiting local gang members, also."

"That's a possibility. Do you still think he'll attack the compound today?"

"I think so. Perhaps I'll ask him to be sure," she said sarcastically. "Is the segurança redeployment under way?"

"Yes."

"You don't have to do this," Léna said. "The compound isn't hotel property."

"This isn't the first time, Léna," Sabino said.

"This time it's much more potentially deadly, isn't it?"

"We won't be alone."

She closed the connection and opened another to Lord Dömötör to check the status of the serum and the day-suits. There hadn't been time to test the serum rounds, so the workshop at the compound simply filled the slugs with pure serum, which limited the available rounds to about a dozen.

Xavier stepped out and then returned with an armful of vinyl. After she finished her conversation with Dömötör, he said, "Are you planning to wear that under your day-suit?"

She'd not changed out of her nightshirt since awakening nearly six hours before. "I'll wear socks, perhaps," she said, and then dialed another number on her mobile.

After several rings, an unfamiliar voice answered. "Yeah?" a man said in Magyar.

"Is Janas available?" Léna said.

"Who wants to know?"

"His daughter."

"Excuse me?" the voice said.

She kept silent, and after a very long moment, she was rewarded with the sound of her father's voice - the first time she'd heard it in a half-century. "Yes?"

She felt a pulse of anxiety go through her body and her heart skipped a beat. "Hello, father," she said.

"What can I do for you, Léna?" The roughness of his voice fit the roughness of the man. It lacked warmth and, in fact, sounded as though his vocal chords were callused – if such a thing was possible.

Her name coming from his mouth shook her more than she'd realized. She steadied her voice and then said, "Why is all this necessary, father?"

"The time for questions is over. It's time for action."

"Because Alexander Corvinus has died?" She knew full well that it was indeed the answer – she just wanted to talk.  And to be sure.

"He wishes not to be responsible for this legacy, for all it has brought is ill."

"His memory lives on within you and others. Can you really say he is dead?"

"A valiant attempt, Léna, but I feel no such memory. Our instructions are clear."

Lacking anything else to say, Léna cut the connection, rose, put on cotton pants and socks, and commenced shrugging on the unwieldy day-suit.  _What was I thinking?_   She'd thought she could connect with him via a long-lost familial link, but if anything, he was even farther away from her than he had been before.  He'd been dead... physically and spiritually unreachable without a hope of ever coming back to her or her mother.  But then he'd come back from the impossible barrier.  But it was obvious to her that he was not the same person - he was controlled by something he couldn't acknowledge or access.  If she could function, why couldn't he?  Or was she just as strange as he?  Treva had told her once. 

She'd just needed to hear it from her father - from Janas.  She'd surprised herself at how unsentimental she was. She felt sad only because of that.

  
\--0--  
  
  
In the end, the coven split, with about a third heading, by car, southeast to Santos on the coast and most of the remainder heading northeast to the compound on Represa Atibainha, seat of her mother's last reign. A skeleton immortal presence, headed by Erika, remained at the hotel to keep the company operating during the absence of key staff. Léna invoked the contingency plan since there was a real possibility that she might not return from a confrontation with the invading force of re-turned immortals. Michael insisted on staying at Ziodex – had he not been providing a valuable service, she would've been more insistent that he go elsewhere.

At about noon, Léna, Treva, Xavier, Eduardo, and a fifth vampire, Tiago, from the hotel suited up and traveled by sedan from the garage under the hotel to the garage under the Ziodex building. From there, they went straight to the roof and into one of Overworld's Bell helicopters. In response to Léna's inquiry, the pilot said that theirs was the seventh flight that he'd made that day. They took a looping route to the south of Guarulhos Airport and then headed north, generally following their usual landmark: Highway 36.

As they approached the lake, Eduardo offered her a pistol. She thought of refusing, but then decided in favor of accepting it. If this was going to be a fight, then it would be a fight.

 _"The lead vehicle is on 36,"_ a segurança said in her earpiece.

 _"I repeat: no shooting until they're inside the compound,"_ said Lord Dömötör from elsewhere.

"How many do we have inside?" Léna asked nobody in particular.

"About 80 once we get there: 35 vampires and 45 mortals," said Xavier in a voice muffled by his opaque black motorcycle helmet.

"Civilians?"

"They rode out as everybody else migrated in," said Xavier. "We jammed up the southeast approach.

"Should we have mortals dress in spare day-suits?" asked Treva. "...to confuse the enemy?"

 _"Não,"_ said Léna. "We want Halldór's gang to fight us, not slaughter mortals. They'll probably get chewed up the moment they start shooting, anyway." _Against 11, we have 80,_ Léna thought. Though the numbers were apparently in their favor, she felt no cause to relax.

_"Second vehicle is on 36."_

_"...and the third vehicle is entering Guarulhos Airport,"_ said a second segurança voice.

"If they get on a helicopter, I want the name of the company," Léna said.

Several moments later, the segurança advised them that they had, indeed, chartered a helicopter, but the helicopter made a beeline for the lake anyway. After Léna and the Kolláristas landed on the compound helipad, she received a communication from Erika to the effect that the gangsters from Hungary had put a gun to the head of the pilot and their helicopter would not deviate from its course.

 _"The lead car has turned off at Nazaré Paulista and has been joined by a car trailering a boat,"_ said Sabino.

 _"Not just anybody can drive a boat on the lake,"_ said Dömötör. _"They've got connections of some sort."_

"How very Al Qaeda of them. They've even got a pilot held hostage, too," Léna muttered. "Where do you want me, Lord?"

 _"Do you really want an answer? Back at the fucking hotel, of course,"_ he said.

"You have a short memory, Lord. The Ottomans came at us with worse and we held them off for awhile." _And the Kollárs still stayed with us over four centuries and two continents,_ she noted to herself. And she also noted that she of a sudden didn't fear death as an ending as much as before. "How long have we got?"

 _"Ten to fifteen minutes until they drop in and come ashore,"_ said Dömötör.

 _"Second vehicle has entered the southeast approach,"_ said Sabino.

 _"Cut it off at the bridge,"_ said Dömötör. _"Make them swim."_

"Do we know what vehicle Halldór is in?" asked Léna.

 _"Negative,"_ Sabino said. With the enemy turning onto the southeast access road, they were five minutes away from conflict.

Dömötör directed Léna off the helipad to the 400-meter long wooded zone between it and the buildings of the compound. She leaned against a tree and kept the clearing, slightly down-slope in front of her, in view. The weaponization of the serum had triggered a brief, but spirited, argument amongst the vampires about who would carry the special bullets. They'd eventually come to a decision that the soldier vampires of the compound would have them, scarce as the bullets were. It had been the "least bad" option, according to Dömötör, whose plan had won the most support.

A handful of segurança, in the category of those not possessing the special bullets, discovered her after a few moments and stationed themselves around her. "You don't have to be here," she said.

 _"We work for you,"_ one said.

"Go where you're told," she said. "Our defense will be stronger and I won't be regarded as important."

After some hesitation, they moved off through the woods, glancing backward at her as they went. In the distance, she heard the drone of a helicopter approaching. As it flew overhead and behind her, she heard the rapid popping and cracking of machine gun fire to the west, in the direction of the bridge.

The helicopter descended as it approached the helipad and then slowed down further. Instead of dropping to the pad, it slowly passed along the clearing extending north of the helipad to the shore. At every 100 meters or so, an immortal dropped twenty meters down to the ground.

 _"Four immortals have dropped to the clearing – fanned out and approaching the treeline,"_ Xavier said from somewhere obviously near her. She kept her eye on the second in from the shore and worked her way down to a dry streambed to conceal herself while she proceeded on an intercept course. Gunfire continued behind her in the distance.

 _"Two... three invaders are wading across the north cove,"_ a segurança said.

 _Wading?_ Léna thought. She sighted along the winding streambed and caught a glimpse of what the segurança was talking about. Then she heard a low-frequency buzz of what could only be an outboard motor. Seconds later, firing began near the dock at the mouth of the creek that led from the compound buildings to the cove. The boat kept going, not slowed by the gunfire that she presumed had been directed at it.

The waders sloshed ashore at the mouth of the dry tributary and sprinted into the woods diagonally off to her left. One was a diminutive female and the other a rather tall male. A moment later recognition registered in her brain – Dagmara and Halldór. Before she could speak, gunfire erupted near her. _"Halldór..."_ she thought she heard somebody say. _"...woods northeast of the..."_

More gunfire roared to life, closer, to her right, upslope of the tributary. One of the helicopter drops protected the waders' left flank by firing on the defenders who shot at them. She raised her weapon and did the only thing she could: fill up the shooter with bullets and hope that the slugs slowed it down. Guns blazed again to her north and, in the corner of her eye, the third of the waders, evidently a mortal, went down and stayed down.

_"Two have breached the line and are approaching the outer ring."_

"That would be two immortals on the north," Léna shouted into her microphone as she fired another burst in the direction of her target.

A figure loomed behind her target, causing her to subconsciously pause. The target whirled and caught a knife in its throat from behind. She climbed out of the streambed as a stocky, day-suited vampire – Eduardo – bent down over the target, grasped the knife handle, and applied torque sideways. After a series of pushes against the knife, he freed the target's head from its body. _"One down,"_ Eduardo remarked. He stood after wiping blood from his gloved hands onto the decapitated immortal's clothing.

Lord Dömötör's voice spoke again into her ear. _"Northeastern defenses fall back to the buildings..."_ And then, _"Léna, we just received a call from Selene. Shall we put her through to your mobile?"_

 _"What?_ Oh, sure," she said, automatically, as gunfire began afresh to her southeast. She crouched in the streambed.

_"Léna?"_

"Is it urgent, Selene? We're in a firefight at the compound."

_"How does it look?"_

"Tenuous. We hope we have enough serum bullets and they run short of UV bullets first."

_"I wasn't able to kill Charles."_

"Why the hell not?"

_"I gave him a warning instead."_

"That's not going to do us a bit of good over here."

_"I realize that. But the plan I'm putting into place assures that none of the re-turned immortals will be able to meet with him as instructed. They'll be immobilized and decapitated on sight."_

"I want you to hunt him down and kill him, Selene," said Léna. _For what it's worth._

_"You might need to do it yourself."_

Her temper flared in the same moment that she realized the purpose of Selene's taunt. She hung up on her, put a boot on the stream bank, and hoisted herself back to topside. She ran south, toward the gunfire there. The sounds of her own panting and the sound of Selene's voice filled her helmet as she sprinted – a bit less carefully around the trees and shrubs of the woods as she should. Her eyes itched and for a moment, Léna ceased to reason and ignored the substance of what Selene said. She cut off a figure that ran much too fast – an immortal. She fired a burst at it, which slowed it. A pursuing, day-suited vampire closed its distance, set, and fired at the same immortal. The immortal slumped, tripped, and then fell face-first into leafy dirt. Léna and the anonymous vampire arrived simultaneously; the other vampire pulled out a wood axe and began chopping at the victim's neck.

"I'm going to the buildings," Léna said. "Halldór has broken through and is probably inside by now." An abrupt rumble punctuated her sentence. "That sounded like a bomb," she added. Then she got up and ran as the other vampire completed its work. She knew just where to find a sword.

She ran south, arrived at the drive in short order, and then turned west with the building in sight. After a full minute at a dead run, the building loomed in front of her. She passed several cars parked in a row and arrived at the main entrance to find two deflated day-suits with bullet holes in them.

The rough stone of the drive yielded to polished marble of the interior. Somewhere off to her left, beyond the outer ring corridor, a battle raged. She ran down the main entry foyer and turned left at the middle ring corridor. Rounding the bend, she saw a small group of day-suited vampires taking cover at the corner of a perpendicular corridor, exchanging shots with something out of her sight.

"Security!  Can you tell me where the hostiles are?"

 _"We're blinded.  They've been taking out the cameras as they go,"_ came the response from Nadja.

 _"Léna, is that you?"_ Treva said next in her earpiece.

She whirled and saw the form of a too-skinny vinyl and helmet-clad vampire behind her, in the direction from where she'd just come. Léna ran toward her. "Yes, it is."

_This way. We're going to go around and cut them off in the center ring."_

A third vampire joined them, Spiro she surmised, and the three of them sprinted around 270 degrees of the building. The invaders, however, had other plans. As they reached the door that led to a bridge over the creek, bullets flew at them from outside of it. They took cover in a perpendicular corridor, one of many that radiated outward from the center like spokes of a wheel. The ricocheting bullets shattered, throwing glowing liquid everywhere.

Spiro put half his body into harm's way, put his machine gun to his shoulder, and squeezed off several rounds. He ducked back and then leaned back out again.  Then he jerked backward abruptly, let out a yelp of pain, and grabbed his closed helmet.

Léna waited for him to die an excruciating death, but he stayed upright. "Conventional bullet?" she asked.

 _"Yes,"_ he wheezed out between heavy breaths.  He braced himself against the wall and she went instinctively to support him.

"Well, thank goodness for that.  Come back here," she said, reaching for him.

Treva abruptly reached to his belt and pulled out a machine pistol with a golden smear of paint on its muzzle. She took a step past them into the circular corridor, set, and fired. _"Got him,"_ Treva said.

 _"I want that back,"_ the injured vampire said.

 _"No,"_ said Treva over her shoulder, heading the other way, down the straight, perpendicular corridor. _"You're injured. Come with us."_

_"No..."_

_"Yes, you're coming with us. Léna?"_

Léna steadied him as they strode further down the corridor toward the center of the building. "Let's get to the sanctum. There's something there that we could use."  She paused to yank off her helmet and then pitched it aside.  She straightened her headset on her sweaty hair, and felt the chilly breeze on her as she started off again.  She hoisted Spiro and half-carried him on her hip.  She didn't plan to leave.

They entered the sanctum and noticed immediately, on the other side of the great, circular room, that others had wandered in just ahead of them from an opposite passageway.  Halldór stood next to the railing that separated the elevated walkway from the salt-water pool in the middle of the room.  Léna recognized him almost immediately, and with a shock.  He looked almost the same to her, except with one critical difference – his eyes were foreign.  So, too, were the milky-silver eyes of the two others with him. 

The three invaders all had machine guns, and all three trained them on the Brazilian vampires.  Léna unceremoniously dropped the nearly useless form of Spiro.  Treva brought up her gold-smeared pistol and began a purposeful march to her left, clockwise around toward Halldór.  She attracted his attention and he began blazing with his own gun.  Léna put on a burst of flash speed in the other direction while the other two invaders trained their guns on her and opened up.  She reached a desk amidst a hail of bullets, Plexiglas shards, and splinters of wood from pockmarked wood paneling to her right.  She hit the closure button and then ducked to her left, between the railing and the floor.  She tucked her head and splashed down into the pool.

A handful of bullets lanced through the water, but soon they stopped as the protective, translucent pool cover completed its journey.  She began to shrug off her day-suit and then surfaced in the quarter-meter of air between the water and the underside of the Plexiglas cover.  She looked upward and watched as Treva took several rounds, but kept her arm upraised, firing a single shot into the upper torso of Halldór.  One of the other invaders, meanwhile, ran clockwise around toward the desk, aiming to reopen the cover and expose her.  The third invader, a short female, Dagmara she surmised, kept her machine gun trained on her.  She was unarmed, but could stay underwater for five minutes or more, if necessary, until help arrived.  She looked down within the blue eye of the pool where the rays swam and where her mother would swim on occasion to seek solace.  She would swim stark naked both here and in the lake, staying below the water’s surface for ten minutes or more, frightening Léna.  She noticed then an object on the bottom of the pool and so she swam down to it – Kou’s knife that she had deposited there just months ago.  She retrieved it and looked up to see the cover retreating like an eyelid opening.

Above, she saw Dagmara staring down at her through rippling water.  Then she trained her weapon and gaze over toward the desk.  Léna looked in the same direction and saw that Spiro had recovered and grappled with the third invader.  He yanked the machine gun free and clocked his opponent in the head with his own helmet-covered head.  His opponent, off-balance, was then sent unceremoniously over the railing and into the pool.

Léna, less heavily clothed than the warrior who dropped into her midst in the pool, swam upon him, and drove Kou’s knife into his neck.  Through the sounds of bubbles and muffled sounds of struggle, she heard more shots ring out above.  She expected bullets to rain down on her anew, but after nearly severing the head of her opponent – a lycan she discovered – she looked up to see only Spiro continued to stand.  She swam down to the bottom of the pool, flexed her legs, and propelled upward.

She launched out of the water and hooked an arm around a lower rung of the steps that led upward to the observatory platform.  “Don’t kill him,” she said to nobody in particular.  She looked around to see Spiro stand over Dagmara and administer the coupe de grace.  Léna righted herself on the steps and stood about a third of the way up.  Treva propped herself against the wall and rested her weapon on her knee, keeping it trained vaguely on the form of Halldór, who lay face-down before her.  His arms and mouth moved slightly, so he wasn’t completely out.  Spiro moved on to Treva and removed the helmets of them both.

“You hit him with the amber bullets?” Léna asked.

Treva’s head lolled.  “I hit him with one.  It’s all I had.”

“Spiro, in the bedchamber, you will find a large sword.”  To his confusion, she added, “Bring it to me.  It’s that way.  Can’t miss it,” she indicated with the knife in her hand.

“What are you going to do with him?” Treva said in a quiet voice.

Spiro returned with an enormous slab of metal that rivaled him in height.  “Just stand by with it,” Léna said to him.

Halldór groaned and made an effort to right himself.  Léna approached the group, leaving wet footprints with her bare feet.

Treva gritted her teeth.  “What are you doing, Léna?” she said hoarsely.  Spiro propped the sword against the door molding and hoisted the machine gun that he’d unceremoniously deprived the lycan of.

“Let me talk to him,” she said and stood over the prone, giant ex-vampire.  Firing had ceased in the facility and others began to join them in the sanctum. 

Dömötör himself appeared on the floor below and stayed his armed troopers with an upraised hand.  “Is it under control up there?” he asked.

Léna replied with her own hand sign, glancing only briefly in her mother’s regent’s direction.  Then she thought anew.  She turned back toward Dömötör and waved him upstairs.  “Just you,” she said.

The hatchet-faced regent, who’d been at her mother’s side for centuries and across two continents arrived next to her after a few moments.  For this battle, he’d exchanged his usual business suit for a warrior’s uniform and an assault rifle. 

Halldór then rose on all fours and then planted a foot to stand.  “Selene was out for days,” Léna said in Portuguese.

“We don’t know how much Michael gave her and Halldór is twice her mass anyway,” Dömötör said back to her out of the corner of his mouth.

“Play along with me,” she said.  In her peripheral vision, Spiro helped Treva to standing as well.

Before Halldór rose to his full height, Dömötör unslung his rifle and swatted him on his jaw with the full force of the stock.  Léna flinched from the sudden violence, but then realized that Dömötör did what he would have done, centuries ago, had Halldór behaved the way he did.  Léna followed him there and disappeared into her mother’s memory. 

She used all of her height to get into Halldór’s face.  “What is the meaning of this insolence?” she barked.  And then 21st century rage howled out of her.  “You leave me?  And then come back here to do _this_?”

“You are weak,” he rasped.  “The time is now.”

 _“Am I?”_ she bellowed.  “On your knees death dealer!”

He made no move.  Spiro did – he stepped behind the giant death dealer and kicked his knees out.  Halldór rested a moment in a bent over position and then sank the rest of the way to the floor as commanded.  Léna stepped to the wall and hefted the large sword that had once upon a time belonged to Halldór.  She then stood in front of him with it, point side down on the floor. 

He gazed at it as if to look at his reflection.  "I am here to solve a problem that Corvinus has created…,” he said.

 _"Impolite!"_ Léna boomed in Latin, drowning him out. " _You_ are not satisfactorily discharging your responsibilities, death dealer. You and Selene and _that_ which you have brought here, into _my_ castle," she said, pointing an accusing knife at the corpse of Dagmara, "are useless to the coven."

Halldór gazed up at her in confusion.

She was halfway to her goal.  Old habits, like bowing before an elder, weren’t so easily shaken after all.  " _You_ have allowed a foreign memory to compromise you. You have been weakened and you are _no_ death dealer."  Then she handed the sword to Dömötör and knelt down in front of Halldór.  “But you can make amends, my husband.”  She dabbed his split skin along his jawline with her damp shirttail.  “You can join us here and take your sword up again.  You can be in my service and we’ll be together again.”

His eyes returned to the natural blue of his ancestors.  “But you are my daughter.”

“Yes,” she said softly.  “Come back to me.  You know it’s the real reason why you came back, isn’t it?  To be with me?”

He closed his eyes.  And then when he opened them again, they had gone silver-white once more.  In their reflection she saw Eduardo approach from behind Dömötör.  Halldór grabbed her right wrist with his left hand and her neck with his right.

She let out a muffled yelp and reflexively plunged Kou’s knife, still in her left hand, into Halldór’s right temple.

He groaned in pain, dropped her, and pulled away, eyes wild. His sudden alarm grew to anger as blood cascaded down his cheek and into his beard. Léna backed up and braced herself on the bedchamber doorway.  In the next instant, Eduardo rushed Halldór, unceremoniously gave him a bear hug, with the momentum also shattering the banister and plunging both into the pool.

She stood back while Eduardo and Halldór rolled over and over underwater, as if two crocodiles fighting to the death. "That was for Kou," she whispered.  The other onlookers stood, frozen, while the violent, thrashing fight to the death filled the great, blue eye of the pool with blood.

The sounds of her father's struggle became too much for her and so she went, dazed, to the bedchamber and sat at the vanity bench, studiously avoiding the mirror that beckoned.

  
\--0--  
  
  
After what seemed like hours, Xavier quietly walked in and sat on the bed nearby. "How is Eduardo?" she asked almost under her breath.

"He's fine – he hacked Halldór to pieces underwater. How are you?"

"I feel like I just killed a part of myself," she said, gazing at his reflection in the mirror, thankful that he was there to disturb it. "I guess it had to be."

"You injured him and gave Eduardo the opening he needed."

"I intended to kill him. Viktor has made it seem almost routine." She turned toward him. "Perhaps Corvinus knew us better than we know ourselves."

"That man was no longer your father," Xavier said.

"I want to talk to Selene," she suddenly said, issuing a demand as any of the Elders might. _Who replaced the one who was no longer my daughter._

Xavier gazed back at her for several moments, then departed and returned with a satellite phone. "It took awhile to find one with her number. This is Lord Dömötör's phone. Just hit _send_."

"Thank you. Would you give me a moment?"

Xavier turned wordlessly and walked out. Then she dialed.

"Yes, Lord?" a familiar voice announced.

"This is Léna."

After a pause, Selene said, "Is Lord Dömötör all right?"

“Surprised to hear from me?”

“Gratified is more like it,” Selene said.

"Yes. I'm borrowing his phone. You angered me deliberately, didn't you, Selene?"

"Yes," she said after a moment. "Did you defeat the Corvinus immortals?"

She struggled to say it. "Halldór is dead with the rest of them."

"I figured you needed all the advantage that you could get."

"I didn't need that advantage. I had to kill a vampire that I once loved. We've once again drunk each other's blood, you and I. But what I – all of us – do need now is for Charles to be dispatched."

"I understand, but you may need..." Selene said.

"No, it's what you need, right? It's an insurance policy?"

"I'll let you draw your own conclusions."

"That's all I need to know." Léna hung up and both she and her mirror image set the satellite down on the vanity in front of her. "I'm sorry," she said softly, looking up into it. But her mother, who so often haunted mirrors in her memory, hid from her and refused to answer.


	20. Seven Stones (Epilogue 1)

**_Years later..._ **

Each year, on this date, the explosion of flowers never ceased to amaze Spiro. After asking around on the first anniversary, he'd found out that they'd not been placed by family – but by the inhabitants of the compound in evident, eternal gratitude.

He knew what motivated his comrades to march, willingly, into battle against the powerful nemesis of the vampires that they served. He was less certain, however, of what motivated the immortals to erect seven _very_ expensive black marble monuments, side by side, on a reserved part of their land upon which the segurança had spilled their blood. After all, it was the segurança's job to defend their employer. It was less expected that their employer, though, might take care of them. If the monuments were not evidence enough, then perhaps the cash payments to their families were. The older members of the Kollár family told tales, passed down from days of old, of a similar beneficence in Léna's mother: the Black Queen.

He arose before dawn on this anniversary to see if the cemetery on the gentle slope that overlooked the lake would be any different than in daylight view. He left his car on the pull-off on the driveway to the compound, just before the gate, and walked down the pathway. He approached the seven flower-adorned headstones that formed a rank along the edge of the trees to his right. They faced east, toward the approaching dawn. Ahead, the waxing fall moon shone brightly on the gentle waves of the lake. He spotted a silhouette standing near the marble bench that sat not far from the water's edge. As he walked closer to shore, the silhouette turned and walked toward him.

" _Boa noite_ , Spiro," Léna said.

In the darkness, he noted that she had dressed for the occasion in a flowing, dark gown. "The same," he said. "You've caught me paying my respects."

She nodded toward the stones. "And you, as well."

"Tell me: is there a similar memorial to the vampires who died in this battle?"

She looked at him for some moments, as far as he could tell in the dark. "For the soldiers, no, except for things like this," she said, holding up the throwing knife that she'd used on her father. "It's never been our tradition to bury our dead under stones. But... for my mother, I'm the memorial."

He didn't quite understand, and so kept quiet.

"Did you know that you fired the first weapon and that I used the last in this battle?"

"I hadn't realized that." And with that, he became connected to her in a way that was completely unique.

"Enjoy your day, Spiro. I must retire."

She touched him on the arm and then walked away, in the direction of the gate.


	21. Another Future (Epilogue 2)

"You have good technique," Erika said as she sat on a stool next to a benchtop in the instructional area of Dr. Corvin's laboratory. Her jacket, folded in half, sat on an adjacent stool.

Máli looked up.

"I don't feel a thing."

Máli grinned as she drew the blood sample. "Thanks for doing this, Erika."

"What are big sisters for?"

"Cigarettes... blood... whatever," Máli muttered as she finished.

"What's he looking for, exactly?"

"He wants to know at what frequency UV-radiation causes cell mutation, rupture, death, etcetera in a 'typical' vampire." Máli placed a droplet on a slide and pushed it under the objective of the microscope.

Erika looked up at the monitor while Máli folded her arms and did the same. Then she frowned and looked back at Erika. "What's the matter?"

"There must be some mistake," Máli said. She went back to the microscope and turned adjustor knobs to obtain images from other points of the slide. "According to your blood..." she began, and then stopped.

"Yes?" Erika prompted.

"You have the blood of a hybrid."

Erika sat up. "What?"

Máli walked to the other side of the room and opened a file cabinet. After rifling for a few seconds, she pulled out a large, glossy photograph. She held it up next to the monitor and said, "This is Selene's blood. Your cells have the same structure."

Erika could only stare with mouth agape.

"I'm going to turn on the UV laser – can you put your finger in the beam and tell me if it hurts?" Then she ran her fingers through her hair. "I need to tell Dr. Corvin about this."

Erika didn't listen. Instead, she got up and walked out the door – in a daze – trying to figure out, for a moment, a way to expose herself to the sun. All of her dreams now suddenly made sense.

  _~finis~_


End file.
